


I'm Not Dead Yet!

by Jestana



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jestana/pseuds/Jestana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU version of <i>Retribution</i>, <i>Loyalty</i>, and <i>Duty</i>, where not only does Archie survive, but also Wellard and Jack Hammond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friends and Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> There are hints at threesomes and foursomes in some of these chapters, so be warned. Originally written as separate fics, I'm posting them as a chaptered fic on here, in chronological order, though that's not the order I wrote them in the first place. ;-) There's only one major character death and it doesn't really happen 'on screen'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellew asks Edrington for a favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a threesome in this chapter, so if it squicks you, don't read.

**Friends and Lovers**

He stood beside the captain as the ship was manoeuvred into position and anchors were dropped to keep her in place. "Good to be home again, wouldn't you say, Captain?"

"Not exactly, My Lord." Pellew glanced at the younger man with irony in his eyes. "I still have the Admiralty to answer to for my actions."

Edrington nodded, his lips curving in wry smirk. "Of course. Just as I have a report of my own to make."

"Will you come and see me later tonight?" asked the captain, watching as his officers directed the men in their tasks. "I won't be leaving for London until tomorrow."

The Earl nodded again. "Certainly, Sir. What time?"

"The second bell of the first dogwatch," Edward answered, amusement flashing briefly in his dark eyes.

Alexander hid a smile at the challenge inherent in the statement. "I will present myself at the appropriate time. Until then, Captain."

"Until then, My Lord." Pellew subtly watched the Army major traverse the deck with little trouble. If he'd been so inclined, Edrington would have made a fine sailor. It was a pity he chose the Army instead, leaving his younger brother to choose the Navy.

Pushing the thoughts away, Sir Edward Pellew requested the presence of his steward so they could discuss the evening meal.

* * *

Alexander presented himself at the door of the captain's cabin just as the ship's bell was being struck for the second time. He was admitted with a minimum of fuss and talked of trivial matters with Edward as they ate the delicious meal his steward had prepared for them. After the man had cleared away their dishes, the captain poured brandy for them and they sat back in their chairs. It wasn't until the Earl had had his glass refilled that he finally asked the question that had been on his mind ever since his presence had been requested for the evening. "What would you like me to do for you, Edward?"

"You show amazing discernment for a man who supposedly cares only for himself," remarked the older man with a quirk of his lips that might have been a smile.

The Earl smirked, sipping his brandy. "And you are stalling. Just tell me what it is you'd like me to do."

The captain drained his glass and refilled it before answering. "I'd like you to take Mr Hornblower and Mr Kennedy out to your family estate for a week or two. The change would do both of them much good, particularly Mr Hornblower."

"You are entrusting me with your two handsomest officers?" Edrington asked, one fine pale blond eyebrow arched. "Are you deliberately tempting me?"

This time, Pellew's smile was more genuine. "You may attempt to seduce them, but you may not succeed."

"How can you doubt my abilities?" Alexander's hurt was only partly feigned. He prided himself on his ability to seduce potential partners into his bed. His long-time friend had been one of the first.

Edward reached across the table to pat his friend's hand. "I do not doubt them, but those two young men only have eyes for each other."

"When Mr Hornblower isn't busy being gallant to the native girls," the Earl muttered into his glass.

The dark head dipped as the captain acknowledged the comment. "Gallant only, Alex. As far as I know, the doxies don't get any coin out of him."

"Captains know more than their men suspect, don't they?" The observation was made with an admiring look.

Pellew chuckled at the comment, clearly amused. "We have to, since we are lord and master of our ships."

"Very well, I will extend an invitation to Mr Hornblower and Mr Kennedy tomorrow." Alexander drained his glass. "They may come to you with questions, though."

Edward set his glass aside, smiling quietly. "I will answer them without revealing that it was my idea."

"I knew you would." The Earl rose gracefully to his feet and leaned down to kiss the captain, softly and chastely. "Good night, Sir. Good luck."

Pellew returned Edrington's kiss just as softly and chastely. "Good night. Take care of those lads for me."

"You know I will."

* * *

Though strongly tempted, the Earl of Edrington waited a few days before attempting to seduce his guests. Much to his disappointment, both men refused his advances, each in his particular way. Hornblower was awkward and bashful about it. Kennedy was gracious, but firm. It could have been Alexander's imagination, but he was almost sure he'd seen relief flash briefly in those bright blue eyes when he accepted the refusal and turned the conversation to something else entirely.

Given the polite refusals, the Earl was surprised to hear a knock on his door late one evening after they'd all retired. Pulling a dressing gown on, he opened the door to find two young men standing in the corridor. Horatio looked distinctly uncomfortable and didn't meet Alexander's gaze. Archie, on the other hand, met his host's eyes boldly and asked, "May we come in, My Lord?"

"Of course, Mr Kennedy." He stepped back and gestured for the two men to enter, noticing that both wore their shirts and trousers, but nothing else. Wondering what was going on, he closed the door and turned to address his unexpected visitors. "Forgive me for not offering you food or drink, but I didn't expect anyone to come calling."

"We understand, My Lord." Archie's mischievous grin seemed to light up the moonlit room. "Mr Hornblower and I were surprised to discover that you have invited each of us to your bed."

Edrington arched his eyebrows, wondering how they'd stumbled on the coincidence. He had been a perfect gentleman both times. The invitations had been issued subtly, but unambiguously. There'd certainly been nothing about his behaviour to upset either man. "This is quite true, yes. However, both invitations were refused and I conceded the field."

"You did, Sir," Kennedy acknowledged with a gracious tilt of his red-gold hair. "What Mr Hornblower and I wondered is what you would have done if both invitations had been accepted rather than refused."

Unable to hold back a smirk, he allowed his brandy brown eyes to smoulder as they met the bright blue. "Why, my very best, Mr Kennedy."

"At the same time?" Horatio asked that question, surprising Alexander. Though he'd seen and heard enough about the lieutenant's courage under fire, he'd quickly learned that he was not as bold in his social situations as his friend.

The only outward expression of surprise that he allowed himself was a slight widening of his eyes and raising both fine pale blond eyebrows. "Only if you are both willing, Mr Hornblower. I prefer willing partners."

"As do we, My Lord." Hornblower shared a brief, significant glance with Kennedy that Edrington had no hope of interpreting.

Clearing his throat, he moved towards the pair, coming to a stop within arm's reach, but leaving them at his sides. "My invitation still stands, Gentlemen." He met Horatio's deep brown eyes, and then Archie's bright blue ones. "Both of them."

"We accept, My Lord." Kennedy stepped forward, taking Edrington's hand in his and turning to hold out the other to Hornblower.

The tall, gangly lieutenant took it without hesitation, closing the distance to take the Earl's free hand. "Both of us."

Smirking, he raised an eyebrow as he glanced from one to the other, his body stirring with interest. "Whom should I kiss first?"

"Neither, My Lord." Archie's answer surprised him only for a moment. Then his lips were on Alexander's and he gave himself up to the kiss, wrapping his arms around the strong, muscular body with a moan of pleasure.

When he was released, he barely had a moment to catch his breath before Horatio's wide, sensuous mouth took over the kiss, making it clear, for the moment, that he was at their mercy. It was a state of affairs he was happy to comply with. For now.

  


**End**  



	2. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellew makes sure Archie doesn't die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My way of fixing the mistake that is Archie's death. *grin* Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Intervention**

Commodore Sir Edward Pellew of His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy had spent more time at sea than on land since he was a boy of thirteen. He had fought many battles, both with a sword in hand and with the cannons of his ships. In some ways, though, it was easier to face an enemy than a friend. At least with an enemy, one could have at him without considering his feelings. With a friend, however, one needed to avoid offending him and so often had to be careful with one's words. Which is why he was standing outside the passenger's cabin of his ship. _Come, man. You are a **commodore** , for God's sake! You didn't achieve that rank by giving way to your cowardice! _ Squaring his shoulders beneath the thick wool of his coat, Edward rapped on the door with his knuckles, waiting for permission to enter. Once it was given, he stepped inside and turned to greet his passenger. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kennedy. How are you faring today?"

"As well as can be expected, Sir," Mr. Kennedy answered, his unbound hair forming a pool of russet gold around his pale face on the pillow.

Edward nodded, uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "That is quite all right. Perfectly understandable."

"Sir, may I ask you some questions?" Kennedy requested, his brow knitting slightly as he gazed at his former captain. "No one aboard this ship seems to know anything except you."

Edward nodded, glancing around and seating himself on the sea chest nearby. "That is as it should be, Mr. Kennedy."

"I understand, Sir, but I wish to know what happened in regards to the trial." Kennedy's blue eyes were bright and piercing as he gazed at the commodore.

 _Of course he would ask about that..._ Edward's thought didn't show on his face as he answered the question, taking refuge in the formality of the language. "Due to largely circumstantial evidence regarding what happened when Captain Sawyer was either pushed into the hold or fell in, no one was convicted of leading a mutiny."

"I heard that something happened with Buckland, though." Kennedy frowned, obviously puzzled, a hint of worry appearing in his eyes.

Edward nodded, smiling sadly. He hadn't wanted to pass the sentence that he had, but the former first lieutenant's inability to lead and command properly _had_ to be addressed. It had brought about too much trouble. "Due largely to the fact that it was mostly because of your competence, as well as Mr. Hornblower's and Mr. Bush's, that you were able to complete your mission and get the _Renown_ to Kingston, Mr. Buckland was found guilty of gross incompetence."

"I wondered how he ended up as the first on a seventy-four," Kennedy muttered, sympathetic even as he relaxed into his cot. "The silly old fool."

Edward smothered a chuckle at Kennedy's comment, having had similar thoughts as the trial had dragged on. "I imagine he had friends with connections who helped him get the position on the _Renown_."

"After the trial, though, no amount of help will get him any position at all," Kennedy observed, gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Ashore or at sea."

He stifled a sigh, remembering a report he'd received shortly before they'd set sail. Buckland had disappeared after the court martial and his body had been washed ashore a few days later. Like most sailors, he didn't know how to swim and had used that fact to kill himself. Clearing his throat, he addressed the young man in his care, "In any case, the trial is over and done with. You needn't worry."

"What of Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Bush?" Kennedy asked, turning his eyes to Edward once more, the blue depths as piercing and intense as before. "Where are they now?"

Edward glanced down at his hat, which he was turning over in his hands for lack of anything else to do with them. "They are somewhere between Kingston and London. I cannot be certain beyond that."

"Did you tell them about...?" Kennedy's question trailed off as his emotions overwhelmed his ability to speak at all.

Edward sighed and lifted his eyes to meet the clear blue ones shimmering slightly with the tears he would not shed in front of his former commanding officer. "We thought you were dead at first, Mr. Kennedy. I had given Mr. Hornblower his new orders already by the time I was told that you were, in truth, alive. Your survival, however, was not assured..."

*~*~*

 _"I can remove the pistol ball easily enough, Sir," Dr. Paul Stevens informed Edward, meeting the older man's gaze steadily. "It **should** have been removed promptly, but it was not, for reasons known only to Dr. Clive."_

_Edward nodded, smiling faintly at the slight hint of scorn in Dr. Stevens' voice as he spoke of Dr. Clive. The two had a long history of polite enmity. They had trained together and competed with each other in a friendly sort of way. In the end, their friendly competition had evolved into a professional disdain for each other's methods, despite the fact that both saved men more often than they killed them. "That is neither here nor there, Doctor. Will removing the pistol ball help Mr. Kennedy survive?"_

_"I would not say help so much as improve his chances," Dr. Stevens answered after pondering Edward's question for several moments. "If it is not removed, Mr. Kennedy's death is assured."_

_Edward nodded again, pacing over to the window to gaze out over the harbor where all the ships were anchored. From there, he could see the **Retribution** being prepared for her voyage to England. He could just see Hornblower climbing onto her quarterdeck to oversee the preparations, looking very much alone. His first lieutenant, Mr. Bush, was still limited in terms of what he could do, but he would be able to sail with him. Turning back to Dr. Stevens, Edward nodded. "Go ahead, Doctor, but I would prefer that you tell no one about it at this point in time."_

_Dr. Stevens smiled slightly and nodded. "Thank you, Sir."_

_"Will you need any assistance with the procedure?" Edward asked politely, but he knew that Dr. Stevens would understand his meaning._

_The good doctor did, indeed, catch Edward's meaning. "If you could recommend someone who might be able to help, I would be most grateful."_

_"The **Renown** 's Bos'un, Matthews, served as a loblolly boy when he first entered the service," Edward informed Dr. Stevens crisply. "He still assists the surgeon of whichever ship he is serving on."_

_Dr. Stevens nodded, saluting just as crisply. "I shall seek him out, then. Thank you, Sir."_

_"Dismissed, Doctor," Edward returned the salute and watched as the doctor left his cabin._

*~*~*

"...I felt it was best that Mr. Hornblower not be informed of the surgery, in case it failed in the end and you died." Kennedy stared at Edward, a hint of accusation still lurking in the blue depths. The commodore felt obliged to tell the lieutenant more. "By the time Dr. Stevens was confident that you would survive, the _Retribution_ had been gone for a week. You were not well enough to travel for another week after that. Consequently, there was no chance of catching the _Retribution_ by the time we set out."

Kennedy seemed to wilt before Edward's eyes, turning his head away and staring determinedly at the planks that made up the wall. "They think I'm dead, don't they?"

"Unfortunately, yes, but their orders specifically included instructions that they were to pursue and catch any prizes they may wish to on their way to England," Edward told the young man, wishing he had better news to give him.

Kennedy's entire body seemed to stiffen and he turned his head to look at Edward once again, belatedly wiping at his eyes. "Why did you go to so much trouble for me, Sir? I could have recovered just as well in Kingston."

"For several reasons, Mr. Kennedy," Edward replied, standing and moving to the small window that looked out over the water. His voice was quiet as he turned to look at the young man. "The main one is that I saw something missing when I spoke to Mr. Hornblower after your 'death.' It was as if a light went out inside him when he thought he had lost you. He would never be the same without you."

Kennedy stared at Edward, those piercing blue eyes wide with surprise. He barely managed to choke out a, "Sir?"

"Come, Mr. Kennedy, I was your captain for years. Surely you don't think I never saw how much you and Mr. Hornblower valued your friendship?" Edward asked, vaguely amused as Kennedy shifted uncomfortably in his cot and those ridiculously round and boyish cheeks of his turned a bright red. Taking pity on him, Edward added, "If I'd intended to take any action, I would have a long time ago."

Kennedy visibly relaxed as he realized the truth of Edward's words. Then he blinked and glanced curiously at his former captain. "Why didn't you, Sir?"

"You two have always worked better together and it was hardly detrimental to the running of the ship," he explained, warmth beginning to steal into his cheeks. "So, I saw no need for it when you were so discreet and circumspect about it."

Kennedy nodded, a speculative look in his eyes. Edward was saved from further discomfiting questions by the arrival of Dr. Stevens. "Good afternoon, Commodore, Mr. Kennedy."

"Hello, Doctor," Kennedy's answer to the cheerful greeting sounded weary and Edward secretly sympathized with the younger man on that count.

Dr. Stevens turned to Edward. "If you'll excuse us, Commodore. We don't want Mr. Kennedy to overtax himself."

"No, we do not," Edward agreed, glancing apologetically at the lieutenant. He could see his exasperation in his eyes. "I shall take my leave, Gentlemen."

The other two nodded and bid Edward good-bye. He exited the cabin and took a moment to draw his composure around him like he would his favorite boat cloak before he strode off to resume command of his ship and his squadron.

*~*~*

 _As he'd waited to find out whether Kennedy would survive, he'd spent many a day roaming the city, thinking more than anything else. What occupied his thoughts the most was how much he had overlooked Kennedy in favor of Hornblower. The fact that he had seen a lad not unlike himself at that age--solitary and reserved with no talent for making friends--in Hornblower did nothing to assuage the guilt that he felt regarding Kennedy._

_When Kennedy first arrived aboard his ship, he had wondered if the lad would be equal to the life of a sailor. He'd made it his policy to interview all officers assigned to his command. It provided him with a chance to determine the accuracy of reports he'd received regarding the officer in question and gave him a chance to form his own opinions. The son of a lord, even a minor one, was not always willing to work hard, but Kennedy had made it clear that he wished to earn his promotions like any other officer in His Majesty's Navy._

_That had pleased Edward and he'd been willing enough to provide Kennedy with the same sort of guidance he provided every officer who served under him. After the incident with the **Papillon** , though, Edward had forced himself to consider the lad dead and move on. It had not been easy, but it never was. Then, two years later, Kennedy was unearthed in a Spanish prison by none other than Hornblower. Edward never found out exactly what the French and Spanish had done to Kennedy, but he knew without question that it had not been the least bit pleasant._

_The cheerful midshipman who'd served under Edward for 18 months before he'd been captured was long gone by the time he returned to the **Indefatigable**. He'd been so changed that Edward was not quite sure how to handle him and had, for the most part, left him alone. Although, he **had** found it prudent to promote Kennedy to acting lieutenant as soon as he could find an excuse to do so. Lord only knew the lad had deserved the promotion, having come through an experience like his and recovered so well from it... _

*~*~*

A knock on the cabin door drew Edward from his contemplation and he turned from the view outside the window. "Come."

"You sent for me, Sir?" Dr. Stevens' voice was the very epitome of politeness and deference, but there was a reason Edward trusted his judgment over that of any other.

That was why he'd sent for the doctor. "Yes, of course. Have a seat, please."

"Thank you, Sir," Dr. Stevens sat down in the chair Edward had indicated, stretching out his long legs with a soft sigh.

Without a word, Edward poured a glass of brandy for each of them. Dr. Stevens accepted his glass and tapped it against Edward's before downing it in one swallow. Sighing, the commodore sat down beside his friend. "How is Mr. Kennedy?"

"Chafing to be up and about." Dr. Stevens smiled indulgently, glancing at Edward out of the corner of his eye. "Not unlike a certain commodore I have the privilege of serving under."

Edward smiled wryly, his reserve fading in the doctor's company. "Touché, Doctor. Perhaps you should allow Mr. Kennedy the use of his legs so he might learn for himself how much further he has to go."

"I did and he handled it better than I thought he would," Dr. Stevens admitted, looking distinctly ruffled at the thought.

Edward was obliged to disguise his chuckle as a quiet cough. "I told you Mr. Kennedy is quite resilient, Doctor."

"Edward, you know as well as I that it is better to be cautious in such matters." Dr. Stevens' exasperation was only partially feigned.

The commodore nodded, patting his friend's hand in hopes of soothing his exasperation. "I mean no disrespect to your work, Paul."

"I know, Edward." The long, slender fingers fluttered up to catch Edward's, thick and rough from so many years at sea. He sighed softly, twining their fingers together. "I suppose, after all these years of trying to get men such as Clive to see reason, that it has become habit to defend myself."

Edward nodded slightly, taking comfort in the small contact. "I understand, Paul. Truly, though, Mr. Kennedy will never fail to surprise you."

"I am beginning to see that for myself."

*~*~*

 _"Mr. Hornblower is the ringleader, Commodore, you must see that," Captain Hammond told Edward once they, with Captain Collins, had retired to decide their verdict. "He is the only one with the audacity to do it."_

_Edward fixed Hammond with the steely glare that had made men as big and burly as Mr. Styles back down. "I believe, Captain, that I have the highest authority here."_

_"Right, and we all know you'll do everything you can to keep Hornblower's neck from being stretched." Hammond glanced at Collins, as if seeking his support._

_Collins raised his eyebrows and commented mildly, "We have no concrete proof that Lieutenant Hornblower is responsible for pushing Captain Sawyer into the hold, Captain Hammond."_

_" **No one** seems to know who pushed Captain Sawyer into that hold, but I can tell you who did," Hammond replied, conviction in his voice and expression._

_Edward held up a hand to stop Hammond. "We cannot make assumptions, Captain Hammond, you know that."_

_"You just don't want to see Hornblower hang, Commodore," Hammond persisted, apparently having forgotten there was a reason Edward was the superior officer._

_Edward reminded him quite nicely of this fact by commenting sharply, "Captain Hammond, you are dangerously close to being insubordinate. Do you wish to hang yourself?" Hammond made no reply, simply glowering at Edward from his chair. "I thought as much. You will kindly restrain yourself from making further accusations that serve no purpose except to put a noose around your own neck."_

_"Hammond is right about one thing, Commodore," Collins stated when Hammond showed no inclination to speak. "If we are to preserve Captain Sawyer's reputation, we need someone to take the blame."_

_The commodore nodded, massaging his temples. "I am well aware of that, Mr. Collins. The question is who?"_

_"Why not Mr. Kennedy?" Collins suggested quietly. "He was there when Sawyer 'fell' and he's a dead man already."_

_Surprisingly, it was Hammond who responded to the suggestion, more sharply than he really should have. "If Mr. Hornblower's mere presence wasn't proof enough to hang him, Mr. Kennedy's wouldn't be, either."_

_"That narrows it down to Mr. Bush and Mr. Buckland, then," Edward mused as Collins, looking rather sullen, took refuge behind his glass of port._

_They sat in silence for several minutes as they considered their options. Hammond was the one who broke the silence, this time with a question, "Mr. Bush was injured, wasn't he?"_

_"Yes, but Dr. Clive has informed me that he will survive," Edward replied, swirling the port in his own glass a few times before downing the last of it in a single swallow._

_Hammond glanced at Edward with a raised eyebrow. "Why should that matter?"_

_"You seem to be forgetting that there were four lieutenants involved in the mess, Mr. Hammond," Edward pointed out calmly, rising to place his empty glass on the table._

_Collins and Hammond exchanged a glance. Thankfully, it was Collins who voiced what both were apparently thinking. "Surely you're joking, Commodore. The man has served in the Navy for years."_

_"Yet he's never risen above Lieutenant," Edward countered as he moved to the window to look down at the prison where he knew four men awaited their verdict. "Considering the fact that we have been at war for so long, surely he would have been made a captain at some point?"_

_Hammond shrugged. "It's possible that he has simply been overlooked."_

_"I hardly think so, Mr. Hammond," Edward's voice was as dry as the sun-baked courtyard just outside the window. "Given the way he handled his command of the **Renown** , is it any wonder the man has never been given a command of his own?"_

*~*~*

Kennedy continued to improve as they sailed closer to England. At first, Dr. Stevens would only allow Kennedy to walk for short periods of time and only in the small cabin that had been given to him for the duration of the journey. As Kennedy had grown stronger, the doctor had had no choice except to let him walk for increasingly longer periods of time and outside his cabin, until all strictures were finally lifted and he was allowed to walk for however long he wished to and wherever his fancy would take him. Thus, Edward found the lieutenant one afternoon, standing at the railing and looking out over the water. The commodore came to a stop beside the younger man and gazed out himself. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"I just want to see England," Kennedy answered quietly, not at all startled by Edward's presence. "I feel so useless right now."

Edward sighed softly. He'd noticed that something had been bothering the younger man lately, but had been hesitant to try to speak with him about it. "I understand, Mr. Kennedy."

"Do you, Sir?" Kennedy asked, his voice neither accusing nor belligerent. It was simply quiet and curious.

Edward nodded, still gazing out over the water he had loved since he was a small lad. "I have been in the Navy for many years now, Mr. Kennedy. One of the worst things a sailor can experience is to have nothing to do a ship, to simply be a passenger."

"Then you understand why I feel a need to do something useful, Sir," Kennedy responded, those blue eyes of his saying what he would not speak aloud: _Give me something to distract me from my thoughts!_

Edward sighed again, shaking his head slightly. "As much as I would like to, Mr. Kennedy, I cannot. Even if the regulations _would_ allow me to make you a lieutenant, Dr. Stevens would not say that you are fit for duty."

"What does the doctor know?" Kennedy asked, thumping the railing with his fist in impotent frustration. "He's not in my skin, is he?"

Edward kept his voice calm and quiet in the face of Kennedy's frustration, well aware that the younger man simply needed to vent. "Keep in mind, Mr. Kennedy, that the doctor is the reason you are still alive."

"Why didn't he act sooner?" Kennedy demanded, keeping his voice low, but still clearly expressing his frustration. "Why was I forced to suffer so much?"

Edward bowed his head, well aware that Kennedy could have been on the _Retribution_ with Hornblower and Bush if the doctor had been allowed to see him sooner. "Dr. Stevens _wanted_ to, Mr. Kennedy, but, since you and the other members of your crew were on trial for mutiny, only the _Renown_ 's doctor was allowed to treat you."

"I suffered Dr. Clive's tender care long enough," Kennedy answered dryly, making it necessary for Edward to hide a smile of amusement. "He prescribed laudanum for any and all ailments, Sir. A cure-all, if you will."

Edward cleared his throat to hold back a laugh. Dr. Stevens had made similar complaints himself many times over the years they had served together. His reply was the same as what he would give Dr. Stevens, "Aside from liberally dosing the men with laudanum, Dr. Clive _has_ managed to keep them alive for the most part."

"I'd still prefer not to see him ever again, thank you." Kennedy shook his head with a sigh.

Edward nodded, smiling faintly. "I shall do what I can to ensure that you do not, Mr. Kennedy."

"Thank you, Sir."

*~*~*

 _He followed Hornblower from the cell with an inaudible sigh, the barred door clanging shut behind him. As he watched Hornblower make his way from the prison, he mused that their meeting had been one of the most difficult he'd ever been through. Older and a good deal more composed than he had been when the young Frenchwoman had died at Muzillac, Hornblower's grief over the death of his dearest friend was all too apparent to Edward. He had tried to comfort the young man, but it had not worked as well as he'd hoped it would. So, he'd turned to other matters, informing the former lieutenant that he was now commander of the **Retribution** and giving him his orders. He shook himself from his reverie as footsteps sounded along the corridor. "Ah, Dr. Stevens."_

_"Commodore." The doctor saluted as he came to a stop beside Edward._

_The commodore raised an eyebrow. "Were you satisfied with your examination?"_

_"Not quite, Sir," Dr. Stevens replied, glancing around them. "Please, come with me."_

_Puzzled, Edward followed his friend to the room where bodies were cleaned and prepared for burial. Of the several tables in the room, there was only one with a body on it. "Doctor?"_

_"Just come and look, Sir." Dr. Stevens had pulled back the sheet covering Kennedy's face and held a tuft of fur or feathers just above his nose and mouth._

_Edward moved closer and watched for several moments before starting back in surprise. Though the air was heavy and still as well as oppressively hot, the tuft had moved! "Doctor...?"_

_"Yes, Commodore. Mr. Kennedy is still alive," the doctor confirmed quietly._

_He managed to tear his eyes from the young man and looked inquiringly at his friend. "Is there anything that can be done to keep him alive?"_

_"Yes: remove the pistol ball," Dr. Stevens answered promptly._

_Edward looked back down at the still face. "Can **you** do it?"_

*~*~*

Upon reaching England, Edward was summoned to London to give a proper report to the Admiralty about the mutiny and the subsequent trial. After dropping Dr. Stevens off at his home, Edward took Kennedy to his family's home. They were all surprised to see him, especially accompanied by a commodore, but pleased all the same. Edward couldn't stay, but the Earl asked him to come by the next day after he delivered his report.

In the weeks that followed, as he waited for the _Retribution_ to arrive, Edward would visit the Kennedy family at least once a week. He was encouraged to see Kennedy's health improve as he spent time with his family. Finally, the _Retribution_ 's arrival was reported and Edward wasted no time summoning Hornblower and Bush to London. When they did, he was surprised by the change in the young man he loved as dearly as his own children. It was as if the loss of one so dear to him had emphasized the prickliness of his personality that would keep strangers at bay.

Seeing him, Edward did not hesitate to bundle him and Bush into a carriage and take them to Kennedy. Utter silence filled the carriage as it trundled through the streets of London. As they drew closer to the Kennedy residence, Hornblower seemed to draw in on himself, though he did not fidget. For his part, Edward knew the best thing to do was to get the captain to his friend as quickly as possible. Bush did not attempt to draw out Hornblower, either, having apparently learned something of his commander's moods.

After what seemed entirely too long a journey, the carriage came to a stop and Edward climbed out promptly. As he waited for the two younger officers to do the same, he surveyed the imposing edifice before him. An elegant town home like the others of its kind, the gardens were beautifully kept and the steps had been swept clean. Lace curtains at one of the windows twitched and Edward caught a glimpse of familiar russet-gold hair before the sound of Bush's voice drew his attention back to the carriage. "It _must_ be done, Horatio. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible."

Edward didn't hear Hornblower's response, but Bush's words achieved the desired result of getting Hornblower out of the carriage, so he did not worry overmuch. The captain's expression was calm and composed, but the brown eyes clearly expressed his reluctance to see the Earl and speak with him about the death of his youngest son. Once Bush had alighted, Edward nodded to the coachman and the carriage departed. Without giving the other two a chance to lose their nerve, Edward climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. It was opened by the butler in short order. "Admiral, Commander, Lieutenant. The family has been expecting you."

"Thank you, Preston," Edward replied, stepping inside when the door was opened wider and handing his hat and overcoat to the butler. Reluctantly, Hornblower and Bush did the same.

"This way, Gentlemen," Preston bowed and led them to a second-floor room once he'd hung their hats and coats in the hall closet.

Edward was the first to enter the room, stepping to the side and turning so Hornblower and Bush couldn't help seeing the familiar figure by the fireplace. Kennedy stood there, his gold-russet hair gleaming in the firelight, a half hopeful and half fearful expression on his face. Edward's position allowed him to see Hornblower and Bush's faces when they saw their friend. Foremost upon both faces was disbelief, accompanied by a bit of fear, as if they thought Kennedy was a ghost.

When neither made a move to step forward and greet their former shipmate, Edward turned to the man in question. The young man raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. The admiral allowed himself a small smile and a smaller nod in return. Thus encouraged, Kennedy moved away from the mantelpiece upon which he'd been leaning and towards the two men, his arms open in a gesture of friendship and welcome. "Horatio, William."

"Archie?" "Mr. Kennedy?" Horatio and Bush glanced at each, and then at Edward, looking to him for an answer to their questions.

He merely smiled calmly and clasped his hands behind his back, slightly tilting his head toward Kennedy. With that small gesture of acknowledgement from Edward, Horatio was the first to approach Archie and embrace him. As Bush was pulled bodily into the embrace, Edward quietly slipped out and closed the door behind him. "They have come at last?"

"Aye, I've brought them, My Lord," Edward confirmed with a nod, not at all surprised that the Earl had been nearby.

The Earl nodded in return and the two made their way to the salon where the rest of the family was taking tea. All of them visibly relaxed to see the Earl and the admiral calm and composed. The Countess poured tea for both of them and they sat down to wait. It was about an hour before Kennedy finally appeared with Hornblower and Bush in tow. There was a decidedly satisfied smile reminiscent of a cat who'd gotten into the cream on his face. Hornblower looked distinctly sheepish while Bush wore the calm, inscrutable look that hid whatever he was truly thinking. "Father, Mother, I'm sure you remember Mr. Hornblower." Without waiting for them to respond, Kennedy smoothly moved on, "This is Mr. Bush, whom I served with on the _Renown_."

"Mr. Hornblower, it's good to see you again," the Earl greeted him with a warm handshake and a cheerful smile. "Mr. Bush, welcome to my home."

Edward watched quietly as Bush was introduced to the family and everyone settled down to chat and get to know each other. It escaped no one's notice that Hornblower and Bush sat on either side of Kennedy, but no one commented on it. The admiral was content to sit and watch, calmly sipping his tea. As he did, he promised himself that he would do whatever he could to keep the three officers together, either on the same ship or at least in the same squadron. _After all,_ he reasoned to himself, _the Navy will benefit far more from having those three serve together than if they were all separated from each other._ Deep down inside, though, where the sentimental side of himself resided, he admitted that the real reason he wanted to keep the three together was pure sentimentality: The three officers were happiest when they were together and Edward didn't want to see their happiness sacrificed for the sake of war.

**End**


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio misses Archie dreadfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone suggested I write the interlude between Horatio, Archie, and William from _Intervention_ , so here it is. Beta by Mylodon on LJ

**Interlude**

Horatio had thought being forced to presume that Archie was dead was painful, but that was before they'd been reunited in Spain, before they'd become lovers, before they were assigned to the _Renown_ , before Archie was shot, before they were forced to say good-bye one final time. Archie had tried to be light-hearted and cheerful about it at first: "I've come back from the dead before, 'Ratio. I will this time, too. You'll see."

It was not as simple as drifting away, unconscious yet alive, this time. Dr. Clive had decided that attempting to remove the pistol ball would do more harm than good. Consequently, it had been left in and they could only watch as Archie Kennedy slowly died before their eyes. For Horatio, attending the proceedings was both relief and torture. It was a relief because he wouldn't be forced to sit and watch Archie struggle to breathe. It was torture because he was away from Archie, wondering how he was doing and whether he'd died while he was gone.

Buckland didn't seem to understand why Archie's death would affect Horatio so strongly. William Bush understood, though. He'd noticed their close rapport early on in the voyage and had deduced the _exact_ nature of their relationship while the three of them were confined to the brig together. Archie and Horatio had done nothing obvious, but the close quarters had helped William draw the right conclusions.

Much to their relief, he'd assured them that he would say nothing at all about their relationship. He'd proven to be as good as his word and even helped divert attention from the two younger officers. After Archie's death, Horatio was glad for William's company on the voyage home. He'd tried to be sensitive to Horatio's moods and was successful to some extent. Horatio came to value his friendship and firmly believed that he would not have made it to England if not for first lieutenant.

At that particular moment, however, Horatio wished he could be anywhere else except his current location. He knew that the admiral had probably already told the Earl about the death of his youngest son, but Horatio owed it to his friend's memory to express his condolences in person. Despite this, he balked when the carriage stopped in front of the Kennedys' London residence and Admiral Pellew climbed out. It was William who prompted Horatio, "It must be done, Horatio. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible."

"I know, William, but I dread it all the same," Horatio replied, reluctantly exiting the carriage as he spoke. He and William followed the admiral into the house and trailed after him and Preston, the butler, to a room on the second floor. _That's odd, I'm almost sure the salon is in an entirely different part of the house..._

"Just in there, Gentlemen." Preston indicated the door and Admiral Pellew entered first.

Steeling himself for an uncomfortable meeting, Horatio followed his mentor inside with William right behind him. He stopped short when he saw who stood beside the fireplace, russet gold hair gleaming in the firelight and his features edged in gold by that same light. _He must be a ghost. Archie's dead..._

"Horatio, William." Archie moved towards them, his arms open and a combination of hope and fear on his face.

"Archie?" Horatio barely managed to get that single word past his suddenly dry throat. He glanced at William, silently asking for confirmation that he'd seen Archie. William's expression provided that confirmation and they both looked to Admiral Pellew for reassurance that the man in front of them was not a ghost. He smiled calmly and inclined his head towards Archie. Thus encouraged, Horatio moved forward and embraced the man he loved so dearly, hesitantly at first, but more firmly once he was reassured that Archie would not disappear from his arms.

"I told you I'd come back from the dead again, 'Ratio," Archie murmured in his ear, too quietly for either William or Admiral Pellew to hear.

"I won't live if you die again," Horatio murmured back, meaning every word.

"I'll just make sure William is around to keep you from killing yourself," Archie replied, reaching out to bodily pull William into their embrace.

"Mr. Kennedy!" William exclaimed, startled by the move.

"Hush, William," Archie remonstrated him. "I want to thank you for keeping an eye on Horatio for me."

Horatio blinked, surprised, glancing from one to the other. "I beg your pardon?"

"I asked William to watch over you for me and keep you from doing anything foolish," Archie explained, completely unabashed. "Such as get yourself killed."

Horatio looked at William, silently asking for corroboration of Archie's story. The older man looked decidedly sheepish, but he nodded anyway. "It was no hardship, Horatio. I know you wouldn't care what happened to you without Archie and I couldn't let you throw your life away."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bush, but that was not your decision to make," Horatio rebuked him, his voice quiet and intense.

Archie cuffed Horatio's shoulder, his face stern. "Horatio, your death would have brought sadness to the people around you. Not to mention you wouldn't have known I was still alive until after you reached heaven."

"I'm sorry, Archie, William." He managed to get the words out somehow; normally unwilling to admit he was wrong. This time, however, it was too important to let slide. "I didn't think."

Archie snorted in a most undignified manner. "Now _there's_ a novel concept."

"I'm sorry, but what's novel?" William asked, looking from Archie to Horatio and back again.

Horatio favored Archie with his most quelling glare, but it proved as ineffective now as it had been in the past. "The idea that Horatio Hornblower didn't think."

"I've observed that Mr. Hornblower never seems to _stop_ thinking." William's comment, uttered in his usual dry, matter-of-fact way, was more than he usually offered and Horatio wondered what had prompted it.

Archie, too, seemed surprised by the remark from William. He stared at him for several moments before a puckish grin appeared. "I know of _many_ times that Mr. Hornblower has stopped thinking."

"Mr. Kennedy," Horatio hissed, suspecting what Archie was referring to.

William raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two younger men. "Please, Mr. Kennedy, do go on."

"A practical demonstration will be necessary, Mr. Bush," Archie warned, the puckish grin still in place.

Horatio's eyes widened and he began to disentangle himself from the other two. "Mr. Kennedy, you are being ridiculous."

"On the contrary, Mr. Hornblower," Archie countered, his muscular arm tightening around Horatio's waist to keep him from backing further away.

Any protests Horatio might have voiced were wiped away when Archie kissed him. In fact, any thoughts Horatio might have had were wiped away by the kiss. As he melted into Archie's embrace, Horatio finally felt as if he'd come home. After what seemed like both forever and an instant, a cleared throat abruptly brought Horatio back to the present and he pulled away from Archie with burning cheeks. " _Archie_!"

"You know your secret is safe with me, Horatio," William answered, a smile curving his lips.

Horatio's cheeks continued to burn all the same. "I know, William, and I am profoundly grateful for--"

"For God's sake, Horatio!" Archie exclaimed suddenly, cutting him off. "I love you dearly, but you can be so pompous sometimes."

The fire in his cheeks didn't abate in the slightest, but Horatio smiled softly nevertheless. "I've missed you, Archie."

"I've missed you, too, 'Ratio," Archie answered, his exasperation melting into fondness. He turned to William, mischief sparking in his eyes once more. "Did Mr. Hornblower seem to be thinking, Mr. Bush?"

William shook his head, an odd look in his eyes that was gone before Horatio could interpret it. "No, he seemed rather...preoccupied."

"Yes, he can be distracted quite easily once you know how to do so," Archie commented, a thoughtful look on his face.

William arched an eyebrow at this. "So I see, but the only one who seems to have _that_ particular privilege is yourself."

Horatio sighed, tired of being talked about as if he wasn't there. "I _am_ still here, Gentlemen."

"Are you?" Archie asked, the puckish grin back on his face. "I thought you'd have left by now."

Horatio cupped Archie's face between his hands, gazing intently into the bright blue eyes that he'd thought had closed forever. "I cannot leave you just yet, Archie. Perhaps not ever."

Forgetting everything and everyone around him, Horatio kissed Archie, drinking from his lips as a thirsty man would from a brook or a stream. He felt as if his body had been asleep in the months since Kingston and, with the touch of Archie's lips upon his own, his body awoke once again, eager for Archie's touch. Once again, the sound of a cleared throat ended the kiss. Horatio was pleased to note that Archie looked rather dazed. "Gentlemen, perhaps it is time we joined Archie's family?"

"Yes, we should." Archie agreed, removing his arms from around Horatio's waist with reluctance. "They wish to see Horatio again and to meet _you_ , William."

Horatio was too busy ducking his head bashfully to answer, so William did. "Let's not keep them waiting, then."

"Yes, of course." Archie sounded distracted, but he'd moved to the door by the time Horatio looked up.

Together, the three Naval officers left the room and headed for the salon to join the rest of the Kennedy family.

**End**


	4. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bush remembers a conversation he overheard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite sure where this ditty came from, but I rather like it. Beta by Mylodon.

**Flashback**

As he sat beside Archie Kennedy in his family's salon, William Bush reflected on how lucky they were that things had worked out the way they had. He could still remember how Archie had argued with then-Commodore Pellew to let him testify regarding who pushed Captain Sawyer into the hold...

~*~*~

 _"I'm as good as dead already, Sir," Archie told his former captain. "Let me do this, please."_

_"There is still a chance that you will survive, Mr. Kennedy," the commodore answered firmly. "I refuse to let you ruin it with a testimony that will really do no one any good."_

_"Sir--" Archie began, but was cut off._

_"No, Mr. Kennedy. Shall I make it a direct order?" William admired the deftness with which Commodore Pellew handled Archie._

_There was a sigh from the other cot, exacerbated by a fit of coughing. "No, Sir."_

_"It may not seem like it right now, Mr. Kennedy, but I have your best interests in mind."_

_William opened his eyes as the barred door clinked shut behind the commodore. He glanced over at the other lieutenant. Archie stared up at the ceiling, silent tears trickling from his eyes into the hair at his temples..._

~*~*~

"Mr. Bush?"

William blinked and turned to the Countess, who'd addressed him. "I beg your pardon, Ma'am?"

"I asked if you would like more tea, Mr. Bush," she replied, indicating his teacup.

He glanced down at his cup and was surprised to see that it was, indeed, empty. "Oh, yes, thank you, Ma'am."

"Not at all, Mr. Bush." She accepted his cup and busied herself refilling it and preparing it as she had before.

As he accepted his refilled cup and sipped appreciatively, his eyes met the admiral's. Their gazes held for a moment before Sir Pellew nodded slightly. William nodded back and returned his attention to the bright-haired, bright-eyed young man beside him just as he made a teasing remark that caused Horatio to blush and duck his head. Watching the two together, William was grateful that Archie Kennedy's life had been spared.

**End**


	5. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie and Horatio re-kindle their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon

**Reunited**

When the Admiral rose to take his leave, Horatio and William did the same, assuming they still had business to see to with him. He deduced this quickly enough, turning to address them with amusement glinting in his eyes. "Gentlemen, the urgent business I mentioned in my message to you has been concluded. You may visit the Earl and his family for as long as you wish."

"Sir, don't I need to report to the Admiralty?" Horatio asked, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. This, combined with the curls that had tumbled across his brow, brought to Archie's mind the portrait of Jove tucked away in his father's study.

Pellew's quiet chuckle distracted Archie from his musings. "No, I never indicated that in my message. Only that you had 'urgent business'."

Archie rose and touched his lover's hand, reminding him of his presence. Horatio turned and met Archie's eyes for several moments. For once, Horatio understood the hint without needing further clarification. He simply nodded and turned back to the Admiral. "Thank you, Sir."

"Not at all, Mr. Hornblower," Pellew answered gruffly, adjusting his cuffs unnecessarily. "I suggest you take full advantage of this peace while it lasts. If you'll excuse me, My Lord, My Lady?"

The Countess nodded while the Earl rose and left the room with the Admiral. "Archie?"

"Yes, Mother?" He turned to her and took the hand she'd extended to him.

Her gracious smile trembled slightly when she met his eyes, but she regained her composure quickly. "Why don't you show our guests to their rooms so they can freshen up before supper?"

"Guests? Rooms?" Horatio glanced at Archie.

Archie rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yes, Horatio. You and William." He arched an eyebrow. "Unless you two have already made arrangements to stay elsewhere in London?"

"No, we haven't, Archie, but--" Horatio's protest was cut off by the Countess.

"Then you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you'd like, Mr. Hornblower," she told him, her voice gentle and quiet as befitted a lady of her rank, but implacably firm all the same.

Faced with this broadside from such a quarter, Horatio had no choice except to strike his colors, which he did gracefully. "I thank you for your offer, My Lady, though I do not presume to speak for Mr. Bush."

"I am honored to accept such a gracious invitation, My Lady," William informed her with a slightly awkward bow.

She smiled softly, clearly pleased. "Very well, Gentlemen. Archie?"

"Yes, Mother." Archie kissed her hand before turning to his former shipmates. With firm hands on their elbows, he steered them out of the salon. "Come, Horatio, William."

He wasted no time showing them to the rooms that had been prepared in anticipation of their arrival. Horatio's was next to Archie's while William's was across the corridor. There was a small door connecting Archie and Horatio's rooms, normally hidden by a tapestry on either side. Archie refrained from making use of it until after everyone had retired for the night. Upon his entrance, he found Horatio rummaging through his sea chest, which had been brought up earlier. He didn't even glance up when Archie shut the door behind him. "Hello, Archie."

"What are you doing, 'Ratio?" He asked, sitting down on the bed and watching as Horatio burrowed all the way to the bottom of his sea chest.

Horatio's voice was muffled and echoed slightly from the depths of the wooden box. "I have a few things in here that will be of interest to you."

"Some things as in my book of Shakespeare's works, John Donne's poetry, all of my mail, and my sketchbook?" Archie asked with a smirk. When he hadn't found any of those items in his sea chest after the surgery, he'd assumed that Horatio had taken them before he'd sailed from Kingston.

When Horatio finally emerged, his red cheeks and disordered curls reminded Archie of the bedraggled lad he first met aboard the _Justinian_. He'd had no idea at the time how much Horatio would come to mean to him, but then, that was how it usually worked. When he'd met Jack Simpson, he'd had no idea how much misery he was going to suffer at his hands. "Archie, are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, Horatio." Archie reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. "My mind wandered for a bit there."

Horatio looked sceptical, but turned his hand over under Archie's and squeezed gently. Smiling softly, he presented Archie with a bundle wrapped in a bit of sailcloth and sealed with wax. "Here, I hope you don't mind that I took these." He ducked his head shyly and cleared his throat. "I felt a little closer to you, simply having them with me. It--" he sighed "--it felt like you were still with me."

"Oh, 'Ratio." Touched to the very core of his being, Archie set the bundle aside without bothering to open it and knelt on the floor beside Horatio, kissing him softly and tenderly.

Horatio returned the kiss with equal softness and tenderness, his free arm wrapping around Archie's broad back while he brought their hands to rest against his heart. They knelt on the floor, kissing, for several long, delicious moments before Horatio pulled away, prompting a moan of protest from Archie. Horatio pressed a finger to Archie's lips. "Archie, I need to know something."

"What is it, 'Ratio?" Archie asked, nibbling at Horatio's long, elegant fingers.

Horatio drew in a sharp breath and pulled his fingers away, giving Archie his most quelling look, which didn't really accomplish its purpose. Instead, he pressed his hand to the spot below his ribs where the pistol ball had entered his body. "Are you fully recovered?"

"Yes, 'Ratio, I am," he assured him, covering his hand with his own.

He could see doubt in the big dark eyes he adored so much and forestalled further questions by kissing Horatio once more. Making a needy sound in the back of his throat that sounded like both a moan and a whine, Horatio wrapped Archie in a crushing embrace, his arms like iron bands across his waist and back. He wouldn't have it any other way, though. It told more eloquently than words that his lover had missed him as desperately as he'd missed his lover. Perhaps more so, because Horatio had thought he was dead. Murmuring against the luscious lips that he had dreamed of kissing for months, he asked, "What do you want tonight, 'Ratio?"

"You, Archie," was the reply breathed against his lips, almost a sob.

"Then have me, 'Ratio," he replied simply. "However you'd like me."

Horatio stared at him for several moments before a shy smile spread across his face. Archie smiled back and it was a long time before either of them thought coherently again. They barely had enough energy to pull the covers up over them. As Archie curled into Horatio's warmth at last, he felt him press a kiss to the top of his head accompanied by a soft whisper, "Love you, Archie."

"Love you, too, 'Ratio." Archie kissed the side of Horatio's neck. The only response he received was a resounding snore. _He only snores like that when he's very content or very exhausted..._ Rightfully pleased with himself, Archie rested a hand over the steady beat of Horatio's heart and allowed it to lull him to sleep at last, safe and warm in his lover's embrace.

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included the book of John Donne's poetry specifically as a tip of the hat to two fellow Hornblower fans. The bundle Horatio hands Archie contains all the items Archie mentioned, by the way. He wrapped them up to protect them from the damp.


	6. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something that happened during the Peace of Amiens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of threesome possibilies ahead, ahoy! Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Peace**

He had never told anyone this, but the main reason William Bush had been assigned to the _Renown_ when her second lieutenant was lost at sea was to assess whether Captain Sawyer was still capable of command or if he needed to be quietly retired from the Fleet. Unfortunately, the man's paranoia had led to his eventual death, leaving the Admiralty to scramble for a way to save Sawyer's name and their collective faces. Thankfully, William's report on the voyage from Portsmouth to Kingston reached Commodore Pellew before the court martial began, thus giving him a chance to manipulate the outcome to one that served everyone's best interests.

Not only that, it also gave Pellew a good reason to refuse Archie's offer to testify. Though it was noble of the fourth lieutenant to give up his good name for his friend--and lover--it wasn't necessary. Though Archie died, at least he kept his good name, something that Bush knew Horatio would have wanted. Instead, Buckland was branded with the disgrace of a verdict of gross incompetence. What connections had landed him the position of first on a seventy-four wouldn't have been able to help him at all after that, leaving him without a career or a livelihood.

So, he had ended it by drowning himself. The pompous fool who'd irritated his three junior officers to no end had disappeared, replaced by a man broken and numb, as if he couldn't quite believe was happening to him. The vacant, staring expression on his face after his body washed ashore was very like what it had been the last time William had seen it, aside from the deadness in his eyes. It had sent chills up the second lieutenant's spine and he had been glad when the body was taken away.

Now, however, it came out that Archie had not died after all, that he had somehow survived, thanks to Pellew's surgeon. William had naturally been glad to see his new friend still alive, but something about it had unsettled him. He chose not to think on it, however, because the new peace meant that William was now half pay without a ship. It was the first time since he'd gone to sea that he'd been without an occupation.

Horatio, also a lieutenant on half pay now, stayed with Archie's family, at the insistence of Hyacinth Kennedy. If not for the fact that William had not seen his sisters for several years, the Kennedy materfamilias would have insisted that he stay, too. As it was, she made it clear that when he came to London to draw his pay, he wasn't to stay in a draughty inn, but at the Kennedy home. William had thanked her and promised several times to do just that.

His sisters had been happy to see him, of course, though they were naturally saddened that their finances would be a little tighter now. With nothing else to fall back on, William assisted his cousin, who'd inherited the blacksmith shop from William's uncle when the man had died several years before. He'd assisted his uncle before he'd joined the Navy, but there was a reason he'd left Chichester in the first place.

He was grateful for the excuse to visit London in hopes of finding a ship. He was able to escape the heat of the forge, which was made worse by the fact that it was an unusually warm autumn. As promised, upon his arrival in London, he went straight to the Kennedy home, where he was received with great warmth and pleasure not only by his former shipmates, but also by Hyacinth Kennedy, who engulfed him in a hug not unlike those he used to receive from his own dear mother before she passed away.

By the time he had settled in, it was too late to go to the Admiralty. Instead, he enjoyed the most sumptuous meal he'd had since he'd gone home to Chichester. His sisters were excellent cooks, no doubt, but they could only do so much with what little they could afford. The Kennedy cook made full use of the Kennedy resources and it showed in what they were served. William had to admit that he'd rather stuffed himself on dinner and dessert.

He had also overindulged in the wine and after dinner port. He had not touched wine or beer since he'd left London. Consequently, he was quite drunk by the end of the evening. Thankfully, Richard Kennedy, the paterfamilias, needed to be up early the next morning and had retired before William was too deep into his cups. The only witnesses to his disgrace were Horatio and Archie, both of whom were quite understanding and forgiving of William's overindulgence of the fruit of the vine.

They were not so forgiving when William attempted to kiss Horatio. Well, Archie seemed more inclined to forgive William than Horatio, who rewarded the kiss by punching him. While William stood staring dumbly at his former commanding officer, one hand covering his left eye, which was rapidly swelling shut, Archie stopped his lover from harming William further and hustled Horatio into his rooms.

After a few moments, he then returned and bustled William into his rooms, steering him over to the armchair by the fireplace. He forestalled any apologies the elder of the two might have offered by disappearing from the room. Just as William began to think that Archie wasn't coming back, the younger man reappeared, with a raw steak in hand, carefully placing it over the injured eye and instructing the rapidly sobering man to hold in place. He then sat down in the other chair and bluntly asked, "Are you attracted to 'Ratio, William?"

"I am, yes, but I wouldn't dream of trying to come between you two," he added to his answer in hopes of reassuring Archie, whose expression he couldn't read at all, for once.

The red-gold head bobbed in a nod, the firelight gleaming on the individual strands. "I thought as much. I adore 'Ratio, but he's such an idiot sometimes, I just want to smack him silly."

"Y-you're not mad?" William asked, surprised that Archie was accepting his answer so calmly. Were the roles reversed, he would have been quite upset and demanded further reassurances that nothing further would happen than a drunken kiss that was aimed for the cheek, but landed on the lips.

"Not at all. I could see that you were drawn to 'Ratio," Archie answered blithely, stretching like a tomcat in his chair. "I can hardly blame you when I've been drawn to him almost from the day we met, even though he looked more like a half-drowned pup than a young man just entering His Majesty's service."

"What about Horatio?" William glanced at the wall that made up one side of the corridor that separated his room from the man in question. "Is he mad at me?"

"Of course he is." This answer, too, was blithely made, accompanied by a jaw-cracking yawn. "He'll be fine once I've talked with him and made him see that in kissing him, you've complimented him."

William managed a faint laugh, dreading the fact that he would still have to face Horatio in the morning. "Will you give him my apologies for kissing him?"

"If that is what you wish, but may I ask you a question first?" The younger man sat up in his chair, leaning forward as William nodded. "Is it _just_ 'Ratio you want?"

William couldn't help staring at Archie. Was he suggesting that he wanted _both_ young men? It was preposterous! Yet, he could still remember that small stab of disappointment he'd felt as he watched the reunited lovers clasp each other, realizing that any chances he might have had with Horatio were gone. When they had kissed, however, a warm curl of arousal had wended its way into his stomach. He hadn't understood what it meant at the time and had ignored it in the joy of realizing that Archie was truly alive.

Now, however, he _did_ understand and stifled a groan as the half-formed thoughts and desires that had filled his nights since his time on the _Renown_ grew and solidified into something definite and much too foolish to come true. Still, Archie had asked a question and deserved an answer, so William looked to his companion and answered quietly, "No, not _just_ him and not _just_ you."

"Just as I thought." Archie stood and crossed to William's chair, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Try to sleep tonight. Don't forget that you'll be visiting the Admiralty tomorrow."

This time, William couldn't stifle a groan. He'd never been very fond of waiting and the prospect of waiting at the Admiralty in his best uniform to learn there were not postings available was not a pleasant one. Not to mention the fact that he would need to explain why he had a black eye. Rather than be offended by his guest's reaction, Archie simply laughed and squeezed his shoulder once before leaving the room. He sat staring into the fire for so long that he fell asleep in the chair, still mulling over what he and Archie had discussed.

* * *

Much to William's surprise, breakfast the following morning was quite relaxed, not at all awkward, as he'd predicted. Of course, Horatio was rather chilly towards him, but that was to be expected. The lady of the house inquired as to the source of William's injury and he told her that he stumbled in the dark and found the bedpost rather suddenly and painfully. She didn't look as if she believed him, but asked no more questions.

Once she left the table, Archie inquired if that was what the Admiralty would be told. "No, I shall simply explain that I happened upon a lady beset by cutpurses yesterday. Naturally, I did as any gentleman would and came to her rescue. In the ensuing fight, the only injury I received was the black eye, though neither of the other men will return to robbing ladies in the near future."

The two younger men gazed at William once he finished speaking, Archie with a playful grin and Horatio with a disbelieving expression. Their friend raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry. Much to his surprise, it was his former commander who spoke first, "You are going to _lie_ to the Admiralty?"

Archie snorted and cuffed Horatio's shoulder. "Honestly, 'Ratio. Telling the truth would earn him a stretched neck at worst and two years' hard labour at best." The taller of the two had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Discretion is the better part of valour in this case, Horatio," William added, sipping his coffee.

"Plus, it would earn him some respect for rescuing a damsel in distress," Archie finished with a puckish grin.

The other two laughed and William finished breakfast just moments later, adjourning upstairs to wash up and don his best uniform, feeling rather stifled once he was fully dressed. Well, not fully...he'd taken down his queue so he could comb his hair and dress it properly, except now he needed help re-tying it. Taking a deep breath, he crossed to Archie's door and knocked.

After a moment of scuffling and muffled voices, the door opened to reveal Archie, his hair decidedly mussed and his cheeks flushed. Glancing over a broad shoulder he saw Horatio standing with his back to the door, gazing into the fireplace. Clearing his throat, William spoke, "Forgive the intrusion, but I need someone to tie my queue for me."

"I can get my valet to do it, unless you don't mind one of us," Archie answered promptly, glancing over his shoulder at Horatio. When William looked, too, he saw the cap of black curls dip once, just barely. Archie turned back to his visitor. "William?"

In reply, he offered the ribbon he held in his hand. Smiling, Archie took it and coaxed William into the room. Leading him over to the window, he turned William so his back was to the younger man. With deft fingers and little tugging, Archie began to braid the brown strands into a queue. The elder man glanced at Horatio out of the corner of his eye and was startled to find him watching the pair by the window. Quickly glancing away, he looked down at the floor as he waited for Archie to finish, his heart thumping in his chest.

He was soon presentable and on his way to the Admiralty, as unsettled by the moment of intimacy in Archie's room as he had been by the debacle the previous evening.

* * *

When William reached the Admiralty, he valiantly ignored the raised eyebrows and whispers that followed him, no doubt discussing his black eye. None of the others sported such injuries. Though they were all dressed in their best uniforms: clean, brushed, and polished. While it looked very impressive, it was very stifling and William felt rather as if he had been trussed up like a turkey.

Much to his surprise, Admiral Pellew was the one who spoke with William. He asked after the black eye and listened patiently to the lieutenant's story about the cutpurses and nodded to himself when the story was finished. "That's quite admirable, Mr Bush. I'm sure the young lady in question thanked you for saving her?"

"Of course, Sir," William answered, resisting the urge to squirm in his seat. He didn't like lying in the first place and to lie to Admiral Pellew of all men was deeply discomfiting for him. "I escorted her home to prevent further attempts to rob her."

"Good, good." Admiral Pellew nodded, looking pleased. The subject was dropped afterwards in favour of discussing possible postings, or the lack thereof. After assuring William that he would do everything in his power to find a position for him, Pellew dismissed him so he could interview the next hopeful officer.

* * *

Resigned to another month helping his cousin, William drew his pay and returned to the Kennedy home. He arrived just as Archie and Horatio were returning from a day of riding. The former was looking bright-eyed and invigorated while the latter was looking rather sore and tired. After a short chat, the two younger men went upstairs to have a bath. William followed shortly after to change into trousers. They were much more comfortable than breeches.

Horatio retired to the study for port and cigars with Archie, William, and Richard, but he soon pleaded tiredness and retired to his room. After finishing his cigar, Bush retired as well. Though he had done little but wait, the day had worn on his nerves and he wished only to relax in front of the fire in his room.

Once alone behind closed doors, he removed all of his clothes except his shirt and trousers. Infinitely more comfortable now, he sprawled in the chair in which he'd spent the previous night, stretching out his stocking clad feet towards the fire. The autumn days may still be warm, but the nights were cool now and the fire was most welcome.

A knock disturbed him just as his thoughts were turning to the large, comfortable bed behind him. Wondering whom it could be, he got up and answered the door, raising an eyebrow at his visitor. "Archie, Horatio, what can I do for you?"

"May we come in?" Archie was the one who answered the question.

After a moment's consideration, William opened the door wider and the two younger men slipped into the room, the door closing behind them with a click. It did not escape William's notice that both men had stripped down to trousers and shirt as well. "What's going on?"

"'Ratio and I've had a chance to talk, William," began Archie promptly, blue eyes utterly serious and without guile. Horatio's expression was an unreadable as always. "About what happened last night and what you told me." His cheeks warming, the older man cleared his throat and glanced away. "We've taken other men into our bed before and would be honoured if you would consent to join us."

He stared at them, dismasted and floundering in unfamiliar seas. He had expected a polite request that he refrain from further attempts to kiss either man. Instead, he was being offered a chance to share in their obvious love for each other. He turned to look into the fire, attempting to recover from his surprise. "May I have time to consider your offer?"

"Of course," Horatio answered this time, his voice soft and understanding. "It's only fair."

Touches on his shoulders and he was alone with his thoughts once more. They were even more confused now.

* * *

He returned home the following day, unwilling to remain away from his sisters for so long. Mrs Kennedy insisted that he take a few small gifts home with him. Though small, each was expensive and he protested such extravagance at first. Then Archie advised him in a stage whisper, "Just accept them, William. She'll wear you down in the end."

This earned the youngest Kennedy son a swat from the materfamilias, but he simply grinned unrepentantly in reply. William soon followed Archie's advice and accepted the gifts on behalf of his sisters. He took his leave shortly afterwards and returned home, his thoughts still in turmoil. He spent much of the next month or so thinking about Archie and Horatio's offer. At times, he made up his mind to accept and embrace them. At other times, he decided to refuse the offer and be satisfied with their friendship.

He still hadn't made up his mind by the time he returned to London. Everything was decided when he alighted from the carriage and was met by both of them in the hall, pulled into a warm, welcoming three-way hug. Pulling back just a little, he looked from soft brown eyes to bright blue ones and nodded once, offering a hesitant smile. In return, he received a blinding grin from Archie and a small quirk of the lips from Horatio. It was enough.

  
**End**   



	7. Band of Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It's rather like having a ghost come back from the dead and ask me to tea."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly follows the previous chapter. If you don't like discussions of threesomes and/or foursomes, don't read. Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Band of Brothers**

The Earl of Edrington found himself, for one of the rare moments in his life, to be at a complete loss for words. He could only stare at his old friend and sometimes-lover with wide eyes. For his part, Admiral Sir Edward Pellew was quite enjoying the younger man's reaction to the news he had just imparted, pouring a glass of brandy and pressing it into Alexander's hand. The Earl drank it automatically, coughing a little. Finally, he found his voice. "This is not a joke, is it?"

"Not at all, Alexander. I know better than to joke about something like this," Edward's voice was quite serious, despite the amusement that lurked in his eyes. He was aware that the younger man had struck up a friendship with Hornblower and Kennedy during their ill-fated mission in Muzillac, one that they'd maintained over the years, just as he and the Lieutenant Colonel had maintained theirs. "Mr Kennedy is quite alive and asked if I would bring you for a visit."

Alexander rose from his seat and strode to the window to look out over the city, his back ramrod straight beneath his scarlet coat. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that Edward had to strain to hear it. "He _requested_ that I visit?"

"Aye, he did." Edward rose and joined his friend at the window, resting his hand over the slim, aristocratic one on the windowsill, not surprised to feel a slight tremor in the appendage. "You should know by now that he values his friendships."

The Earl bowed his head, letting out a shuddering breath. "Forgive me, Edward. It's rather like having a ghost come back from the dead and ask me to tea."

"I suppose it would be, yes." The Admiral chuckled, squeezing his friend's hand before going to pour more brandy for him. "It probably seemed much the same when I took Mr Hornblower and Mr Bush to see Mr Kennedy."

Alexander turned to Edward, one fine blond eyebrow arched. "Mr Bush? The one described as having a 'belaying pin stuck up his arse' by none other than Mr Kennedy himself?"

"Did he really say that?" The older man chuckled again, offering the younger man the brandy he'd poured.

"Yes, he did." The Lieutenant Colonel accepted the brandy and took a sip of it, savouring the taste now that the initial shock was over. "Of course, Mr Hornblower was rather more diplomatic than Mr Kennedy."

Edward nodded, sipping his own drink. He could remember several instances when that had been brought home to him, especially when he visited the two at the Kennedy residence. "I've noticed it myself. Apparently, Mr Bush eventually agreed with Mr Hornblower and Mr Kennedy."

"They can be rather...persuasive when they're together," Alexander commented quietly, turning back to the window.

He nodded, joining his friend. "Will you come with me to see them? I know they would be glad to see you."

Alexander remained silent for several minutes, draining his glass and setting it on the sill. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Yes, I will come."

"Excellent." Edward smiled, pleased, and took their empty glasses back to the table. When he turned back to his companion, the Earl had already begun to remove his coat. His smile turning predatory, the Admiral brushed the slender hands aside and continued the task himself, draping it carefully over the chair.

He smiled when Alexander eased his jacket off and draped it over the chair as well. His eyes fluttered shut when strong, slim arms slipped around his waist, pulling him back against the tall, lean body of the Lieutenant Colonel. "How long until we'll have to leave, Edward?"

"Not for an hour, Alexander," he murmured, shivering as the younger man's breath ghosted over his skin, followed by a warm kiss to the spot below his ear that was particularly sensitive.

"Excellent." In that single word, Edward could hear the predatory smile that curved his lover's lips. "We have time to play, then."

He didn't protest as he was tugged over to the bed, looking forward to 'playing' with Alexander.

* * *

Archie Kennedy jumped to his feet when their visitors were announced, grinning broadly. "I'm so glad you came, Alex. I was going to go mad soon."

"I thought you were already there, Archie?" Alexander answered dryly, returning the younger man's hug after only a moment of hesitation, a look of wonder on his face, despite what Edward had told him.

Horatio coughed into his cup of tea, dark eyes sparkling for a moment. When the two blond heads turned towards him, however, his face was as calm and sober as usual. From behind Alexander, Edward offered his opinion. "I don't think there's been a moment in Mr Kennedy's life when he was anything _but_ mad."

"Thank you, Edward, I was just thinking that myself." Alexander shared an amused look with his friend before Archie took him by the arm and led him over to the man who'd been sitting with him and his friend.

Pale blue eyes looked up to met Alexander's brandy-brown ones as the other man rose to his feet, reminding him of a cat, his movements lithe, graceful, and economical with a hint of a danger to remind one that he was a fighting man. "William, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Colonel Edrington, of the 95th foot. Horatio and I served with him in France years ago. Alexander, this is Lieutenant William Bush, formerly second lieutenant of the _Renown_."

"An honour, Sir," Bush offered his hand, a small smile on his face. "Horatio and Archie have spoken highly of you."

Alexander shook the proffered hand, feeling the strength of his grip and familiar calluses from shipboard life. "They've spoken highly of you as well, Mr Bush." Alexander's eyes flickered to the man beside them and Archie simply grinned cheekily.

"I believe a belaying pin was involved in the description." Bush's voice was calm and composed as he mentioned the offending comment, apparently not perturbed in the slightest.

His comment was answered by a choking sound from behind Alexander. Archie quickly moved to Horatio's side, pounding on his back. "Are you all right, 'Ratio?"

"Our Mr Kennedy has always had a certain way with words," Edward offered from where he'd taken a seat across from the settee, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Particularly those of Shakespeare. His insults have been singularly original."

Alexander smirked as Archie urged him to have a seat and pressed a cup of tea into his hand. "Whose insults, Sir Edward? The great Bard's or our Mr Kennedy's?"

"Shakespeare's of course," Edward's left eyelid dropped in the barest hint of a wink. "Our Mr Kennedy can only copy his insults."

Archie rolled his eyes and swallowed the bite of crumpet he'd taken. "'Our Mr Kennedy' is right here among you, Gentlemen."

"How could we forget?" Alexander asked, allowing his cool, aristocratic veneer to slip, just a little. "When we have thought you dead?"

"Twice now, Archie." Horatio added quietly, speaking his first words since Edward and Alexander had arrived.

The shorter of the two gave a soft sigh, squeezing his friend's shoulder gently. "I don't mean for it to happen, 'Ratio, you know that. It just...does."

Horatio managed a small smile, reaching up to squeeze his friend's hand gently. "I know, Archie. I know." He cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening when he noticed the others gazing at him and his friend. "My apologies, Gentlemen. I didn't mean to be a wet blanket."

"It's quite all right, Horatio," Alexander answered with another smirk. "We're used to it by now."

The younger man's reaction was as satisfying as the roar of laughter from Edward, the irrepressible peals of Archie's laughter, and even the stifled chuckles of Bush. In the end, Horatio reluctantly joined in the laughter, acknowledging that Alexander had a point.

* * *

The laughter did the trick of easing any remaining awkwardness among them, which lasted until the after-dinner port. Edward allowed himself only one glass before announcing that he should be going. Before Alexander could even suggest leaving with him, the older man added, "You may stay as long as you like, Alexander. I'm sure Mr Kennedy would be willing to offer you the use of his family's carriage to transport you home later."

"Yes, Edward," Alexander answered with a meekness that was only feigned. More sincerely, he added, "Thank you for bringing me."

Edward smiled fondly, clasping Alexander's hand warmly. "Take care."

"Of course." He watched with a small smile as Edward took more formal leave of the other men and left the room. Once he was gone, three pairs of eyes turned to him with varying mixtures of curiosity and mischief. "Yes?"

Predictably, it was Archie who asked the question all three of them were thinking, "How long have you known the Admiral and how close are you?"

"A good fifteen or so years," Alexander answered easily, stretching out his legs towards the fire, enjoying the warmth. "We're _quite_ close."

He smirked as the other three exchanged darting looks. Archie looked delighted, like a little boy in a sweets shop. Horatio looked torn between being appalled and relieved. Bush looked amused, especially when he saw Horatio's face. Finally, Horatio asked the next question, or tried to, anyway. "If you two are so close, how could you-- I mean--"

"How could I join you and Archie if Edward and I are lovers?" Alexander asked for him, arching a fine blond eyebrow coolly. The two young men in question nodded while Bush looked between them and the Earl with surprise in his eyes. "It's quite simple, Horatio. We are not _in_ love, as you and Archie are. We're very fond of each other, but it never had a chance to deepen beyond that. Then there is the fact that we are both married."

A stunned silence met this announcement and Alexander couldn't help the pleased smirk that curled his lips. _Edward would be so proud._ Weakly, Archie asked, "M-married? Since when?"

"About a year now," he answered after a moment's thought. His smirk widening, he added, "She is in her confinement right now, otherwise she'd have come with me to London."

The others all congratulated him, their surprise giving way to honest happiness for Alexander and his wife. When they finished, Archie asked, "What does that mean for us?"

"I would not turn down an invitation if it were issued, Archie," Alexander assured him, his smirk more of a smile now. "However, it is up to you two whether the invitation is issued at all."

They nodded and whispered together for a few moments before drawing Bush in to join them. Alexander finished his drink as he watched the three heads bent together: riotous black curls, straight gleaming red-gold, and wavy chestnut brown. The Earl idly wondered if Edward would use his influence to find a ship for all three to serve on together. Before he could speculate further, the three men came to an agreement and turned to face Alexander. His eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipation, Archie asked, "What do you think of four in a bed, My Lord?"

"Four?" Alexander repeated, looking from Archie to Horatio and back again before looking at Bush. The pale blue eyes met his steadily and calmly. Smirking, he replied, "I've never tried it, but I'm always open to new experiences."

Exchanging smiles, they made arrangements for when they were sneak to Archie's room, which had the largest bed. The Earl of Edrington retired to the rooms prepared for him with anticipation curling in his stomach. He was quite looking forward to the evening's activities.

**End**


	8. Revision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-write of "Loyalty".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Revision**

"Mr. Wellard, Mr. Orrock, this is John Hammond, one of your new messmates." Lieutenant Kennedy introduced the newly commissioned midshipman to the other two boys with a cheerful smile. "Mr. Hammond, these two are Henry Wellard and Charles Orrock. If you have any questions, be sure to ask them. If they can't answer your questions, come to myself or Mr. Bush. Is that understood?"

John nodded, glancing up at the lieutenant with shy eyes. "Aye, Sir."

"Good, I'll leave you to get settled, then." Patting John's shoulder, the blond lieutenant left the midshipmen's mess.

John turned to study the other two boys. They'd been seated on either side of the table that took up the middle of the room, but had risen when Mr. Kennedy had arrived. The one who'd been introduced as Wellard was shorter than John, with straight dark brown hair, pale blue eyes, and freckles. Orrock was taller, with medium brown hair, calm grey eyes, and sun-darkened skin. The silence that had fallen over the room following Mr. Kennedy's departure was broken by Wellard, "John _Hammond_? As in Captain Hammond of the _Calypso_?"

"Yes, he's my uncle," John replied, wondering what Wellard knew of Charles Hammond. "Have you met him?"

Wellard shook his head as he sat down. "No, I've only heard of him."

"So have I," Orrock volunteered, resuming his seat at the table. "They say he's a good captain, if very strict."

John followed their example and sat down as well, rather glad of it, having woken early that day and been unable to get back to sleep due his anticipation of reporting for duty aboard the 20 gun sloop-of-war commanded by Horatio Hornblower, the _Hotspur_. He was beginning to feel a little sleepy now that he was finally aboard the ship. "Could one of you explain how the command structure works?"

"Your uncle never did?" Wellard asked, glancing up from the book he was reading.

It was John's turn to shake his head. "No, he said I would have to learn on my own, the way he and Father did."

"Your father is in the service, too?" Wellard stared at John with surprised eyes and even Orrock looked away from his card game.

John nodded, glancing down at the rough table, feeling sad for a moment. "He was. He died at sea, when I was eight."

"I'm sorry for your loss." John jumped when a long, slender hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, accompanying Orrock's quiet comment.

He smiled faintly. "It's all right, Mr. Orrock. It led me to serve in the Royal Navy. I wanted to be like Father." _And I want Uncle to be proud of me, but that didn't quite work out..._

"That doesn't answer your original question, though, does it?" Wellard commented after a few moments, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Orrock laughed and John could feel a smile forming on his own lips. Perhaps he'd get used to this after all...

* * *

He lay curled up in his hammock later that night, gazing up at the underside of the deck above him. His uncle's last words to him rang in his ears, even hours later: _Our family has started a fine Naval tradition, Jack. Don't disgrace it._ John had promised that he wouldn't, but he'd started off wrong when he'd asked Lieutenant Bush if he could see the captain right after he'd reported for duty. Mr. Bush had been a little brusque, but made it clear that he would have to wait until Captain Hornblower requested his presence to speak with him. Mr. Kennedy had taken pity on John and showed him to the midshipmen's mess where he could meet the other young men who would be able to help him out.

Wellard and Orrock were nice enough; the former boy was rather quiet and reserved while the latter was more outgoing and cheerful, quick to offer a smile and a kind word. Wellard had served with Commander Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy, and Mr. Bush when they were all posted to the _Renown_. John had heard about it from his uncle, who hadn't been pleased with the results of the court-martial when he'd come back from Jamaica, but he wouldn't say much more than that the wrong neck had been stretched. A few careful questions on John's part had revealed the fact that it was a painful subject for Wellard to speak of, so he'd let it be, turning the conversation to something else.

John sighed softly, feeling sleep tug at him insistently. Not for the first time, he wondered if he'd done the right thing in joining the Royal Navy. It was too late to back out now, though. He'd enlisted and reported for duty. If he were to leave, he could be killed for desertion. _I'll study hard and do my best. I only hope it will be enough..._ With that thought in mind, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He barely made it to the head before his stomach rebelled and he threw up. It was common knowledge that men were flogged for minor infractions of the rules, but he'd never witnessed a flogging until just a few minutes ago, when Styles, the captain's steward, was flogged for inadvertently endangering the ship and her crew by leaving the range in the galley unsecured and thus exposing the ship to the danger of going up in flames. When the captain asked if anyone wished to speak on Styles' behalf, Bush had said that he didn't think there was anything malicious in Styles' actions. He was simply negligent in his duties. Mr. Kennedy had agreed with Mr. Bush and seemed to imply that maybe it wasn't even Styles' fault that the range had been left unsecured. "He's served the Crown too long to make such a mistake."

Styles had still been flogged and the amount of blood the two dozen lashes had drawn from the steward's broad back had made John's stomach churn. He'd managed to control it, though, and he was thankful he hadn't thrown up in front of the entire crew. That, combined with his lack of knowledge about his duties and where things were on the ship, would only have confirmed the fact that he was useless in the eyes of the more experienced seamen. Wellard and Orrock helped John as best they could and even Matthews, the bo'sun, helped out on occasion. He couldn't rely on their help forever, though. He _had_ to learn his duties. When he emerged from the head, wiping his mouth and grimacing at the sour taste that had taken up residence there, he found Wellard waiting for him with a cup. "Here, you'll want to rinse your mouth out."

"How'd you know?" John asked, accepting the cup and gratefully rinsing the awful taste out.

Wellard shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back as was proper for an officer. "I saw a boy not much older than I was at the time fall from the yardarm in the middle of a storm on the _Renown_. Landed right at my feet and I promptly threw up."

John grimaced sympathetically, drinking the last of the water before returning the cup to Wellard. "Thanks, I really needed that."

"I know what it's like to feel out of place and not sure of what you're supposed to be doing," the other young man explained quietly as they made their way down to the mess. "At least here you won't be punished for doing the right thing."

He frowned, glancing at his companion. "Why would you be punished for doing what's right? It doesn't make sense."

"There are some captains who don't make sense," was the reply he received. "Be glad our captain isn't one of them."

With that, Wellard retrieved a book from his sea chest and settled down to read. John followed his example and was soon absorbed in his studying, unwilling to waste time in learning his duties.

* * *

Studying seemed to be all that John did in his spare time, but it paid off as his duties came to him more easily and Matthews didn't repeat his orders as often during the gun exercises. At first, he'd been left hoarse after the exercises from bellowing so much, but Orrock had coached him on how to do it properly. "Do it from your gut, not your throat. It'll save your throat and you'll still be heard afterwards."

John learned quickly and Mr. Kennedy had commented on his improvement after the next exercise. "You'll make a fine officer yet, Mr. Hammond. Just keep working at it."

"Thank you, Sir." John just barely remembered to remain calm and composed, as was proper for an officer, though he wanted to smile.

Mr. Kennedy had smiled and leaned close. "Don't be afraid to smile, Mr. Hammond. It keeps you from becoming too gloomy and serious."

"Aye, Sir." John had let a small smile peek out at that point and Mr. Kennedy had chuckled, patted his shoulder, and continued on.

His first sight of a French ship had shaken his newfound confidence. They had so many gun ports and trained marksmen. As they'd rendered passing honours to the other ship, John had shrunk back until Orrock, who'd been standing next to him, manhandled him back into place, hissing, "Stand tall and straight, Hammond. You're proud to be in His Majesty's Navy."

This had shamed him into doing just that. Not only should he show that he was proud of that fact that he was part of the Navy, but the men were watching him. If they saw him shrinking from an enemy ship, they wouldn't respect him as an officer and discipline couldn't be maintained. Not to mention the fact that some of the more timid men might get it into their heads that it was all right to shrink from action. That wouldn't do at all. He _must_ set a proper example and show that he was capable of leading the men.

* * *

Later that day, Orrock returned to the mess after his watch in a fine temper, tossing his hat on the table and removing his coat with angry jerks. John marked his place in his book and watched the other midshipman for a few moments. Orrock noticed the scrutiny and asked, "Yes?"

"Are you all right, Mr. Orrock?" John asked carefully, doing his best to avoid angering the other young man further.

He sighed heavily, ruffling his straight brown hair. "Just somethin' I heard Matthews say."

"What do you mean?" John frowned, tilting his head to one side. "I didn't think anything could upset you."

Orrock shrugged, picking at the top of the table with one fingernail. "He commented that maybe the captain would rather have a Frenchman in front of him than an Irishman behind him."

"Isn't the cox'n Irish?" John asked, still frowning.

"Wolfe? Yes." Orrock nodded. "That's beside the point, John. Matthews was implyin' that none of the Irish in the Navy are trustworthy."

John shook his head, wondering why he liked the fact that Orrock had called him by his first name. "Wellard told me that Matthews has served with the captain since he entered the service. Maybe all he was saying is that Wolfe hasn't earned the captain's trust yet."

"Why would he take Major Côtard with him and not his cox'n?" Orrock asked, leaning forward as he asked the question. "It isn't normal."

John shrugged slightly. "I don't know. Perhaps two fishermen aren't as conspicuous as three."

"Conspicuous?" Orrock repeated, frowning in puzzlement. "What does that mean?"

John thought for a moment. "Noticeable. He doesn't want to get caught, right?"

"Of course not. He'd be shot for spying on the French, regardless of the fact that we're at peace." Orrock looked annoyed that John had even asked the question.

John nodded. "Exactly. So, the captain will do everything he can to make sure their presence goes unnoted, which includes leaving his cox'n on the ship."

As he went back to his studying, Orrock mulled over what he'd said. Eventually, he commented, "You've a good mind for strategy, Mr. Hammond. You'll make a fine leader."

 _Once I actually **learn** how to lead,_ John added silently, even as he nodded to acknowledge Orrock's comment. Having said that, Orrock rose and took his coat and hat into the berth where the midshipmen slept, most likely to put them in his sea chest and retrieve his deck of cards. Sure enough, he returned a few minutes later with the deck of cards in hand and sat down opposite John. He began to play some sort of card game and they sat in comfortable silence as they waited for the captain's return.

* * *

By nightfall, they were well on their way back to England and John was curled up in his hammock once again, utterly despondent. He and Wellard had been stationed on the quarterdeck for the second dog watch and both had noticed the way Mr. Bush and Mr. Kennedy kept talking in low voices. Mr. Prowse, the ship's master, had kept urging them to leave, especially when the French ship returned, and one or the other would acknowledge his advice before they'd go back to talking. Finally, Mr. Bush told Mr. Prowse that they would be leaving. From the look on Mr. Kennedy's face, John didn't think the second lieutenant liked the idea at all. He'd stalked over to the other side of the quarterdeck and, from what John could see, stood watching for the jolly boat with the captain and the Frenchman.

Consequently, Mr. Kennedy spotted them and Mr. Bush had the ship brought about so the jolly boat would reach the ship sooner. As soon as the captain was back on board, he had the ship clear for action and everything John had learned during the gun exercises seemed to fly from his head. Matthews tried to cajole him into doing his job, but John couldn't get his voice to work properly and could only stare at the bos'n silently. Matthews had rolled his eyes and taken over giving the orders. John moved back out of the way, still trying to get his throat to work. Wellard was at the other end of the ship, commanding his divisions and Orrock was nowhere nearby.

Despite the fact that neither of his friends was nearby, he was just pulling himself together when there was an explosion and he was splattered with blood. He panicked, thinking it was _his_ blood, that _he'd_ been hurt. Wolfe yelled at him to get him to shut up, and then gave up. Matthews took over, telling him that it wasn't his blood. The captain had shouted a question at the bos'n and, covering John's mouth with his hand to keep him quiet, he answered, "It's all under control, Sir." The captain apparently accepted that answer and Matthews turned back to John. "One more peep out of you and no one can save you. You'll be going over the side with that lot." He indicated the dead bodies that were being pulled aside so live men could man the guns in their places. "Do you understand? Do you understand?!"

Much to his embarrassment, he answered by throwing up all over Matthews, having realized that the blood all over him belonged to someone else who was most likely dead now. To his credit, though, the bos'n simply sighed and released John's jacket. Someone managed to shoot down the other ship's main mast and the captain gave the order to head home. John took advantage of the flurry of activity to go down to the mess and change his soiled trousers for a clean pair. At least the only people who'd seen his moment of panic were Wolfe and Matthews. Everyone else had been too busy fighting the _Loire_ to notice. By the time he returned to the deck, Matthews had changed his own clothes and John set to work helping clean up the aftermath of the battle. Once he was dismissed, he returned to the mess and curled up in his hammock into as tight a ball as he could manage.

* * *

When the _Hotspur_ returned to England, a message was waiting for John, requesting that he meet his uncle on the _Calypso_ for dinner that very evening. He received permission to go, with the understanding that he return to the _Hotspur_ directly afterwards. This condition he was glad to agree to and he took his time brushing his uniform and polishing the buttons and his shoes. "Where are you off to, Jack?"

"Uncle wants me to have dinner with him on his ship," he explained as Charles took up his jacket and began brushing it while he was polishing his shoes. "Probably to hear how my first voyage as member of the Royal Navy went."

They worked in silence for several moments. "You don't sound too thrilled to be goin'."

"I'm not. Uncle didn't want me to join the Navy in the first place." He finished polishing the one shoe and started on the other. "Neither did Mother."

"Why not?" Charles sounded sincerely curious as he started brushing John's waistcoat.

John sighed, trying to keep his voice calm and composed, but failing when a small tremor emerged as he spoke. "Because Father died at sea. She doesn't want to lose her only son to the sea as well."

"Why did you enlist if they didn't want you to?" Charles finished brushing the waistcoat and handed it to John as the shorter boy slipped his feet into his now-polished shoes.

He busied himself with pulling the waistcoat on and buttoning it as he considered his answer. "The sea is in my blood, Charles. I've always loved it and can't imagine anything I'd rather do than serve the Crown, just like my father did."

"Did you tell your mother this?" The taller boy helped John into his coat.

John tilted his chin up so Charles could tie his stock for him. "I did and that's what persuaded her to let me enlist in the end, only the peace came just as I was old enough, so I had to rely on Uncle to arrange something for me, which he didn't manage until Captain Hornblower was given the _Hotspur_."

"I'm glad he was able to arrange it, Jack," Charles told him softly, his grey eyes meeting John's blue-grey ones.

They stood gazing at each other for several moments before John looked away and took a step back to pick up his hat. "How do I look?"

"Perfect," Charles replied, reaching up to adjust the stock minutely. "We'll be getting something fresh for dinner tonight. Would you like Henry and me to save you some?"

John pondered that for a moment before nodding. "Yes, thank you, Charles." With that, he left the mess and headed onto deck to climb into the shore boat that was waiting for him. He was too preoccupied with what he was going to tell his uncle to wonder why he'd felt as if he could gaze into Charles' eyes forever.

* * *

He was on his way back to the docks after dinner when he happened to spot two familiar figures in a tavern near them. Puzzled, he ducked inside and approached his fellow midshipmen. "Charles, Henry. I thought the captain hadn't given shore leave?"

"He did after you left for dinner with your uncle," Charles explained after he and Henry had exchanged a glance and the latter boy rose to go to the bar. "Have a seat."

John shook his head regretfully. "I didn't get shore leave. I was told to return directly to the ship after dinner."

"Mr. Kennedy said that we were to inform you that the shore leave includes you," Charles told him with a grin as he began to tug on John's sleeve, urging him to sit. "Said you deserved a bit of fun, too."

John hesitated, biting his lip. A drink with the others sounded like a wonderful idea, especially after spending a couple hours with his uncle. "He said that?"

"He did, now sit down, Jack." Charles gave a hearty tug and nearly pitched his messmate into the table. "Oops, sorry 'bout that."

"It's all right, Charles," John reassured his friend as he removed his boat cloak and hat, draping them with the others on the extra chair before sitting down. Just as he sat down beside his friend, Henry arrived with their drinks. "Thank you, Henry."

"Not at all, Jack," Henry smiled quietly as he resumed his seat.

Charles waited until they'd all savoured their first gulps of their drinks before asking the question that had most likely been burning since John had joined them. "How was dinner with your uncle?"

"Not too bad, all things considered," John admitted, tracing the handle of his mug with the tip of one finger.

The taller boy nudged him. "Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Hammond?"

"Well, Uncle asked about my first voyage, as I thought he would." John fell silent, remembering the incident.

Henry prompted him this time, raising a dark brown eyebrow. "But?"

"But Uncle seemed distracted, preoccupied." John shrugged, taking a drink. "It made it easier for me to gloss over the parts that would make him re-think helping me join the Navy."

His companions stared at him in surprise and it was Charles who voiced what both were most likely thinking, "He would _make_ you leave the service?"

John nodded ruefully. "He told me he would see to it if things didn't work out for me like I hoped they would."

"You won't leave, though, I hope?" John was surprised to realize that Charles was genuinely worried by the idea.

He rested a hand on the taller boy's with a reassuring smile. "Of course not, Charles. What kind of person would I be if I only looked for smooth sailing, especially in the Navy?"

"A foolish one, I must say," Charles admitted, turning his hand over under John's and clasping it gently.

Both jumped when Henry's freckled hand covered theirs, squeezing gently. "To the Navy."

"The Navy!" John and Charles echoed, all three taking up their mugs and drinking deeply.

* * *

John was despondent when he and Charles returned to the midshipmen's mess after their watch, slumping onto the bench. "Every time I finally get something right, something else happens for me to muck up!"

The _Hotspur_ had been sent back to Brest and ordered to watch it while they waited for the rest of the fleet to arrive. John had felt more confident of himself on this voyage, surer of his duties and responsibilities and more familiar with Naval life in general. He could climb the rigging more quickly and easily now and bellow as well as Charles and Henry during the gun exercises.

None of that, however, had prepared him to recognize the flagship's signals when it had arrived. He'd brought his book with him on watch because he knew the fleet would arrive soon. It had done him no good in the end, because Lieutenant Bush had asked Charles what the signal meant when John took too long in looking it up. Charles had given Jack an apologetic glance before answering correctly.

After that, Lieutenant Bush had walked over and admonished John in a low tone, "Learn your signals, you little...gentleman. The book is useless in a battle."

Feeling very small, John had nodded and whispered, "Aye-aye, Sir."

He'd been relieved when their watch ended and he could retreat to the midshipmen's mess, where he'd made his complaint to Charles. The other boy now sat down beside John. "You know, you can ask someone to help you learn things so you _won't_ muck them up."

John felt his cheeks flush as he realised what Charles meant. He'd never _asked_ for help. Charles or Henry had always had to _offer_ their help when they realized John was having trouble. If he _asked_ for help, though, before he ran into trouble, he'd struggle less and learn quicker. In a small voice, he asked, "Will you help me learn my signals, Charles?"

"I'd be glad to, Jack." Charles grinned brightly, hopping to his feet.

John couldn't help grinning back as he stood up. Together, they went into the midshipmen's berth so they could study in relative peace, seated side by side on John's sea chest.

* * *

They spent most of the watch going over signals, occasionally talking about other things if they needed a break from studying. They jumped when Henry came in from his watch. "Hello, Jack, Charles. What are you up to?"

"Charles has been helping me go over the signals," John explained, holding up his book. "I muddled them up earlier today and would rather avoid repeating the experience."

Henry nodded, smiling faintly. "A wise precaution. Have you made progress?"

"Oh, certainly." Charles nodded earnestly, and then glanced at John. "In fact, John, I suggest that you leave your book in your sea chest during your next watch."

John blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "You really think I should, Charles?"

The taller boy nodded again. "Yes, I do. Besides you won't be as tempted to rely on it if you don't have it with you."

John frowned, glancing down at the book. Slowly, he nodded. "I see your point."

"Good. We'll be eating soon, by the way," Henry commented as the other two rose so John could put the book in his sea chest.

As if in response to Henry's statement, John's stomach rumbled loudly, closely followed by Charles' stomach. The three midshipmen exchanged startled looks, and then laughed.

* * *

"He ordered you to withdraw the Marines?" Mr Bush asked, scepticism clear in his expression.

John had prepared for such a question to be asked and explained, "He saw the French reinforcements advancing on the signal post, Sir. He told me to run ahead and evacuate the jetty."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthews glance sharply at him, but ignored it. Mr Bush turned to the bo'sun himself. "Matthews?"

"He wanted to wait for him, Sir," John inserted quickly.

Mr Bush turned back to John, his tone firm. "Thank you, Mr Hammond. Return to your duties."

"Aye, aye, Sir." John saluted and did as he'd been ordered, his thoughts dwelling on Charles Orrock and wherever he might be at the moment.

The crew had learned, after dinner, that a party from the _Hotspur_ would be going ashore to destroy the semaphore tower that had been reporting their movements. When John hesitated to volunteer to join the party, the captain had requested his presence in his cabin. When he had done so, the captain had offered to allow him to transfer to another ship without it reflecting on his reputation or his character...

* * *

 _"I don't want a transfer, Sir. I don't know why you should think otherwise." Unless he meant the fact that John had been struggling to learn his duties as a midshipman. "My family has high expectations of me, Sir."_

_The captain interrupted at that point. "I'm not asking your family, Mr. Hammond." He sighed before continuing. "War is a bloody business and any man in his right mind would avoid it, given half the chance."_

_"With respect, Sir, no man would avoid it who cared about his character or reputation." John knew he was daring much to speak to his captain so frankly, but he wanted Captain Hornblower to understand his position. "Please take me with you, Sir."_

* * *

He had been included in the shore party and been somewhat comforted that Charles was in the shore party as well. Everything had gone well enough until the captain sent John back to the jetty where the boats were waiting to tell Matthews that they would be returning directly. John had had to dodge French soldiers going the other direction on the path and he'd panicked, thinking only that he needed to get out of danger and that meant returning to the ship. He'd told Matthews that the captain had ordered them to return to the ship directly. When Matthews indicated that he'd rather wait, John had pulled rank on him to get him to do as he'd said.

Now that he was safely aboard the ship, though, he felt horrible. He'd left his shipmates to their fate at the hands of the French and he knew that Matthews and Mr. Bush didn't _really_ believe his story, but there was enough truth in it that neither could really challenge it. John could only hope that he would have a chance to redeem himself for the way he'd ruined _this_ incident, and that the others were all right.

* * *

He woke with a groan, his head sore and a throbbing pain in his gut. "Easy, Jack. You're still recoverin'."

"Recovering from what?" John asked, cautiously opening his eyes to see Charles seated nearby.

Charles raised an eyebrow, a friendly smile on his face. "You don't remember anything of the battle? At all?"

"I remember the way my stomach felt like it was tied in knots while the boats seemed to take forever to get to the shore," John confessed sheepishly, trying to relax in his hammock. "Mr. Bush kept urging the men to row faster, but you know they can only go so fast."

The other midshipman nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. Do you remember anything else?"

"It's all sort of a blur after that," he told the other young man, frowning slightly as he tried to remember. "I jumped out of the jolly boat as soon as I could and charged forward before I could stop to think about the danger I was facing." He glanced up shyly. "I just knew my captain and shipmates were in danger because of me and that I needed to make up for it by helping in whatever way I could."

A long, slender hand covered John's where it rested on his stomach. "You did help, Jack. Trust me. If not for you, I would not be here today."

"I remember now." He gazed at Charles' hand on his as the memory played through his mind. "I didn't really do much when you think about it."

The brown head shook emphatically in negation of John's assertion. "You did more than you think, Jack, and stop tryin' to deny it."

"I couldn't do any less, Charles," John pointed out quietly, meeting his gaze steadily. "Especially for someone who's done everything he could to help me."

"An admirable quality, Mr. Hammond." The quiet voice in the doorway startled Charles to his feet and into a position of attention. John started to sit up, but fell back with a groan, his hand moving to his stomach. Mr. Kennedy moved to the other side of the hammock from Charles, a strong, square hand covering his shoulder, causing him to realize for the first time that he wasn't wearing a shirt. "Easy, Mr. Hammond, just lie quietly. A gut wound like yours can be a nasty piece of work." The piercing blue eyes moved to where Charles remained at attention. "Mr. Orrock, you're needed elsewhere. I'll stay with Mr. Hammond."

Charles knuckled his forehead, his face assuming the impassive mask all officers were trained to assume. "Aye-aye, Sir."

John watched his fellow midshipman leave; wondering why he felt a pang in his gut that had nothing to do with his wound. "Now, Mr. Hammond, how are you feeling?"

"Sir?" John turned his head on the pillow to see that Mr. Kennedy had pulled a stool over and sat down on it.

One corner of Mr. Kennedy's mouth tugged upwards into a wry smile. "I asked how you were feeling."

"Pretty well, Sir," John answered honestly. "My stomach feels as if someone tried to gouge into it with a red-hot poker, though."

Mr. Kennedy chuckled, his teeth flashing white in his brown face as he smiled. "That's good, Mr. Hammond. It means the surgeon did his job."

"I don't see how, Sir," John muttered, trying hard not to sound petulant.

Mr. Kennedy patted his arm, his smile reassuring. "Wounds like these often feel worse before they get better."

"How do you know, Sir?" John couldn't resist asking, looking up at the second lieutenant curiously. The round, boyish face darkened, his smile fading and John wished he could take the question back. "I'm sorry, Sir, it's not my place to ask."

Mr. Kennedy reached out to pat John's shoulder again. "It's quite all right, Mr. Hammond. I can understand your curiosity."

John tilted his head thoughtfully. "Did _you_ receive a similar wound, Sir?"

"Very astute of you, Mr. Hammond." Mr. Kennedy smiled faintly before turning serious once more. "I am going to ask you a question and I want you to answer truthfully, understood?"

John nodded, puzzled. "Yes, Sir."

"Did the captain order you to evacuate the jetty?" Mr. Kennedy had leaned forward, bright blue eyes gazing steadily into John's.

Slowly, reluctantly, the midshipman shook his head, his voice soft, "No, Sir."

"I didn't think so." The second lieutenant's voice was wry. "I shan't tell anyone the truth, but you realize that the men who were in the shore party will already know it."

John nodded, picking at the edge of his blanket. "Yes, I know." After a moment, he glanced at the blond lieutenant. "Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Hammond?" A russet-gold eyebrow rose inquiringly.

John hesitated a moment before asking his question, "Henry told me that you're the third son of a lord. Is that true?"

"Yes, Mr. Hammond." Mr. Kennedy nodded.

John bit his lip. "How did you manage it?"

"Manage what?" The russet-gold head tilted to one side.

"To learn your duties and responsibilities without messing things up every time you turned around." The question practically exploded out of him and he was horrified to realize that tears of frustration were forming in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, determined _not_ to cry in front of a superior officer.

Mr. Kennedy waited until John had opened his eyes and was looking at him once more. "I had friends who helped me learn. I was so grateful for the help that I decided I would help anyone else who came aboard after me." He smiled faintly. "You have similar friends in Mr. Wellard and Mr. Orrock. Both have helped you before and both will help you again. You need only ask."

"Thank you, Sir." John smiled gratefully, glad that the second lieutenant had understood. He frowned suddenly, glancing around. "My uncle, Sir, did he survive?"

A new voice interrupted before Mr. Kennedy could answer. It was the captain, looking older, with lines bracketing his mouth. "No, Mr. Hammond, I regret to inform you that your uncle, Captain Hammond, is dead."

"Dead?" John repeated, staring at his captain with wide eyes.

Captain Hornblower nodded, glancing at Mr. Kennedy. The second lieutenant nodded slightly and the captain sighed heavily, limping over to sit on the stool Charles had left behind. "Mr. Hammond, what I'm about to say is not to leave this room. Mr. Kennedy seems to think we can trust you and I trust his judgment."

John glanced at the second lieutenant, startled. A faint smile was his only response. "Sir?"

"In a way, it was fortuitous that you left the shore party stranded." John stared; noticing that one corner of the captain's mouth was curled in a very small wry smile. "Your action enabled us to discover that Wolfe is a French agent, as was--" a heavy sigh "--your uncle."

John sat back in the hammock, stunned by this news. He knew that his uncle wouldn't have fought for France. No, he would have fought for Ireland. He'd always been fiercely proud of his Irish heritage. "How did he die?"

"He thought you were dead," the captain explained, his voice low. "So he killed himself."

  
**End**  



	9. Discussing Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one person who can push Horatio Hornblower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In another of my fics, Wolfe accuses Matthews and Styles of being sodomites. This shows how the accusation affected Archie and Horatio. Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Discussing Thoughts**

After Matthews and Styles had been dismissed, William followed them out to take his watch. Archie poured wine for himself and Horatio as the latter rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "That was the best decision you could have made for the situation, considering the circumstances." He set one glass in front of his lover and sat down with the other. "Don't you dare beat yourself up for it." 

"I wasn't, actually." The other man dropped his hands from his eyes, absently picking up the glass to take a sip. "I was just wondering if there's any truth to Wolfe's accusation." 

The blond hid a smirk behind his own glass. "Probably." 

Big dark eyes grew even bigger as Horatio stared at his lover. "Archie!" 

"What?" Bright blue eyes met the dark ones calmly. "As far as I know, they've been serving together since Styles was impressed. Either they're _very_ good friends, or they're lovers." 

"That's a good point." Horatio stifled a sigh. "Regardless of which one it is, it's never stopped them from carrying out their duties." He winced as he suddenly remembered something. "Matthews _did_ flog Styles, after all." 

Archie nodded, resting his hand over his lover's clenched one, gently patting. "He did it because it was his duty. He put salve on Styles' back afterwards." 

"How do you know that?" Horatio stared in surprise. 

A smile briefly lit Archie's face like lightning. "I went to check on Styles afterwards and caught a glimpse of it." He chose not to mention how carefully and gently the salve had been applied, nor the tenderness on Matthews' face as he'd applied it. 

"Oh, that's good." Horatio smiled and nodded to himself, as if pleased with the information. 

The blond studied the mop of black curls as they were bent over a chart for several moments. "'Ratio?" 

"Hmm?" The other man didn't look up at all. 

He covered a long, slender hand with one of his. "What would you do if it turned out to be true?" 

"What?" Those bottomless dark eyes were puzzled when they met the bright blue ones. "You mean if Matthews and Styles _are_ sodomites?" 

"Yes." The red-gold head bobbed in answer. 

The angular shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "I'm not sure. I haven't really thought about it." 

"You should." Archie pressed, thinking of the two seamen and how much they must care for each other if their relationship had lasted for so long, whether it was friendship or more than that. "I mean, don't you think it'd be rather hypocritical of you to hang men for breaking Article XXIX when you've been doing it yourself?" 

Horatio looked away, out the window. "We haven't been caught. There's no proof that we have." 

"That's what we told Matthews and Styles," he reminded his lover. "But, if they _are_ caught, you need to know what action you're going to take." 

Silence reigned for several long moments as the captain considered the question that had been brought up. In the end, he sighed. "I don't think I could bring myself to hang them. It was bad enough having Styles flogged." He turned to face his lover. "If they _are_ lovers, it has obviously never interefered with their ability to do their duties. I'll do my best to avoid hanging them." 

"And other situations that might come up?" The blond was gazing earnestly at the black-haired man. "Others who might be accused of sodomy?" 

Horatio smiled reassuringly. "I will consider each case as it comes to my attention. If it is consensual, like us, I will do my best to avoid hanging them." His face hardened. "If it is forced on one of the parties, I _will_ hang the one who is forcing himself on the other."

"Thank you, 'Ratio."

"You're welcome, Archie."

  
**End**   



	10. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Pellew speaks with Mr. Hammond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Talk**

Rather than linger in enemy waters, Admiral Sir Edward Pellew felt it was prudent to return to England as soon as the ships of the fleet had made the critical repairs and supplied themselves with food and water from the nearby area. He'd received reports from each of his captains, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that the one from the _Hotspur_ had been written in Captain Hornblower's mathematically precise hand rather than Mr. Bush's spiky scrawl or Mr. Kennedy's economical loops. Further repairs were carried out as the fleet made all possible speed back to England. Several men who'd been injured and lingered between death and life made their choices. After he'd read the service over the one who'd died, Edward sat with Dr. Paul Stevens in his cabin, comforting his friend with his presence and making no attempt to soothe him with words they both knew did no good.

When they reached Portsmouth, the men still convalescing were taken off the ship and settled in an inn near the docks. Once he'd seen to everything that required his attention, Edward made his rounds of the ships in the fleet, receiving updated reports on the states of repairs and further casualties of men who'd succumbed to their injuries. He visited the _Hotspur_ last, partly because her captain was the least senior in the fleet and partly because he dreaded seeing Mr. John Hammond. A midshipman, his uncle was Charles Hammond, who'd killed himself, thinking his nephew was dead.

As Hammond's commanding officer, it had fallen to Hornblower to inform the young man of his uncle's death. Regardless, Edward still felt an obligation to check on the lad, having helped arrange for his position aboard the _Hotspur_. "Admiral!"

"As you were, Gentlemen." Edward waved the midshipman who'd been visiting Hammond back to his seat. There were times when he really disliked being of such a high rank.

"Actually, I should be going," the midshipman replied. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jack."

"See you, Charles." Hammond watched his friend leave before turning to Edward.

The Admiral smiled slightly when the young man blushed, but quickly feigned a cough to hide it. "How are you feeling, Mr. Hammond?"

"Pretty well, Sir," Hammond answered, his cheeks returning to their usual colour. "Dr. Stevens has said that I may return to duty in a few weeks."

Edward nodded. He'd recovered more quickly than Mr. Kennedy had, but the bullet had been removed sooner in this case and had not been allowed to fester. "Good. I'm sure Captain Hornblower was pleased by the news."

"I couldn't say, Sir." Hammond looked discouraged.

Edward noticed this and made a mental note to speak with Hornblower later. Though reserved and withdrawn by nature, the man needed to learn to praise his subordinates for a job well done as well as chastise them for failing to perform to their duties properly. "I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Hammond. Learn your duties and perform them to the best of your abilities. That's all that anyone can ask of you."

"Thank you, Sir." Hammond glanced down at his lap, biting his lip.

Noticing this, Edward raised an eyebrow. "Is there something else, Mr. Hammond?"

"Captain Hornblower told me that my uncle had been working for Napoleon, Sir." Hammond spoke more to his lap than to Edward. "Is that true?"

"I'm afraid so," Edward replied with a heavy sigh. He'd trusted Captain Hammond to take out the batteries, unaware that the Irishman was willing to collaborate with the French to gain independence for Ireland.

Hammond glanced up at Edward with fear in his blue-grey eyes. "Does that mean I'll be suspected of the same thing?"

"No, Mr. Hammond." Edward shook his head. "I have always made it my policy to judge a man by what he does, _not_ who he's related to or the reports of others."

Relief appeared in Hammond's eyes. "Oh, good. I was worried."

"Worry no longer, Mr. Hammond," Edward reassured him. "Captain Hornblower will give you a chance to prove yourself."

Hammond nodded, a small smile appearing. "That's what everyone who's served with him has said."

"I would listen to them. They know him best." Edward stood up. "Get well soon, Mr. Hammond. The Navy needs you."

Blushing a little, the midshipman saluted. "Aye-aye, Sir."

Stifling a chuckle, Edward returned the salute and left the sick bay. Once Mr. Hammond had learned his duties and responsibilities, he would make a fine officer.

**End**


	11. Commendations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio speaks with his midshipmen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Commendations**

Horatio Hornblower paused in the doorway of the small room, watching as two of his midshipmen talked in low voices. John Hammond was looking more like himself already, no longer unnaturally pale, and half-sat, half-reclined in his chair. Charles Orrock occupied the other chair, leaning forward towards his friend, his face animated as he finished his story. Hammond laughed, and then winced, his hand going to his side. The good humour disappeared from Orrock's face to be replaced by a concerned look and he half-rose from his chair, clearly ready to do something to help his friend. The shorter boy waved his companion off, the pain easing from his face already.

Though not the sort of man to spot these things, Horatio could easily see now that a bond had formed between the two boys very similar to the one that bound him to his second lieutenant. It was not as much of a shock as he had expected it to be. He knew that Orrock had been helping the younger man learn his duties and Horatio was grateful to him for that. Hammond had been improving steadily during the last two voyages and it was only a matter of time before the young man would feel more confident of himself as an officer. Besides, as far as he knew, no Articles of War had been broken. They were simply two young men separated from their families and friends by their duty to the King who had turned to each other for companionship. Aware of how important such a bond would be, especially to Hammond, he resolved not to do or say anything to break the friendship unless his hand was forced. It would be rather hypocritical of him, given his own history.

"Excuse me, Sir." A soft voice interrupted his musings and he turned to see a young woman behind him, carrying a stack of linens. He stepped back out of her way and she slipped past him into the room. "Thank you, Mr...?"

"Hornblower, Miss," he replied, offering a polite smile as she busied herself stripping the bed and re-making it.

"Captain!" Orrock jumped to his feet and sprang to attention, Hammond following more slowly, wincing slightly as he straightened.

Horatio shook his head slightly. "At your ease, Gentlemen. We're not aboard the _Hotspur_."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Hammond relaxed his stance gratefully, his hand going to his side once more.

The young woman seemed to have noticed and turned to him solicitously. "Does your wound pain you, Mr Hammond?"

"Only a slight twinge, Miss Mason," Hammond answered calmly, taking a half-step back from her, virtually hiding behind his taller messmate.

Amused exasperation flashed across Orrock's face at this move, but disappeared quickly. "Thank you for your kindness, Miss Mason. We shouldn't like to keep you from your other guests."

"You're welcome, Mr Orrock." She scooped up the dirty bed linens and swept out the door past Horatio, casting a glance back before she disappeared from view.

He shook his head slightly and closed the door before turning to the two young men. "Please, Gentlemen, sit down." They did, relief appearing in Hammond's eyes before he composed himself. Orrock sat on the edge of his seat, as if expecting to jump up out of it at any moment. "I came to see how you're mending, Mr Hammond."

"The doctor said I should be able to return to active duty within the week, Sir," the young man volunteered, his fingers twisting themselves into knots in his lap.

Horatio nodded, aware of the young man's nerves. "I also wished to commend you."

"Sir?" Hammond stared at him, blue-grey eyes wide and surprised.

It was only due to his habit of hiding his emotions that he was able to hide a smile at the midshipman's surprise. "I am aware of how hard you're working to learn your duties and responsibilities. Rest assured that your improvement has not gone unnoticed. If you continue as you have started, you will make a fine officer."

"Thank you, Sir." Hammond's eyes were still wide and surprised, but a shy, pleased look started to appear in them. "I shall do my best."

Horatio allowed himself a small smile. "That's all I ask of you." He turned to the other midshipman, who looked as surprised as Hammond. "Mr Orrock, your assistance to Mr Hammond has been invaluable, both to Mr Hammond and as an example for the crew. I suggest you continue, though it might be better if you were to wait to be asked for help." A glance between the two assured Horatio that both had received the message: Orrock should wait until Hammond asked for help. "Very well, Gentlemen. Carry on."

"Aye, aye, Sir." The two boys started to rise from their seats, but Horatio waved them back, turning to let himself out.

He paused in the front hall, watching as Wellard conversed politely with Miss Mason. He nodded in response to something she had said when he glanced up and spotted his captain in the doorway. He jumped to his feet, automatically stiffening to attention as best he could with his injured arm. "Captain! I didn't see you there."

"At ease, Mr Wellard," Horatio replied, entering the sitting room. "I saw your companion earlier, but we were not properly introduced."

She rose to her feet, the blush staining her cheeks and demure smile curling her lips lending charm to her face. "Captain, this is Maria Mason, the daughter of our landlady. Miss Mason, the captain of my ship, Mr Horatio Hornblower."

"A pleasure, Miss Mason." He took the hand she offered and pressed a kiss to the back.

Her blush deepened. "An honour, Captain. I've read about you in the Naval Gazette."

"I am flattered, Miss." He offered a polite smile. "I'm sure there are much more interesting captains to read about in the Gazette than myself."

She opened her mouth to reply, but a voice from the back of the house interrupted her. "Excuse me, Sirs." She disappeared from the room in a flurry of skirts.

"How are you, Mr Wellard?" Horatio asked, turning to the midshipman.

The young man smiled faintly. "The doctor said I may return to active duty so long as I'm careful of my arm."

"Go get your things and we'll get you settled back aboard the _Hotspur_ ," he told the young man with a small smile. "Unless you'd rather stay with Miss Mason and her mother?"

The young man disappeared up the stairs quickly, returning only moments later with a small canvas bag, pulling on his boat cloak. "I'm ready, Sir."

"Come along, then." Horatio swathed himself in his own cloak and led the young man out into the chilly February air. They tramped through the streets to the docks in silence for several blocks. "Mr Wellard, I wish to commend you on your performance of your duties aboard the _Hotspur_."

He could just picture the young man's wide eyes in his mind. Finally, he received a reply. "Sir?"

"I know your service aboard the _Renown_ wasn't easy and the injury you received from the Spanish didn't make it easier," he explained, glancing at the younger man. "Yet, you have rallied and come to be a fine midshipman. I am glad to have you aboard the _Hotspur_."

Wellard was silent for several moments before he spoke again, his voice quiet, yet sincere. "Thank you, Sir."

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria insisted upon putting in an appearance. Thank goodness it's a brief one. *grin*


	12. Sea Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William watches Hammond find his 'sea legs'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Sea Legs**

When he first met young John Hammond, William Bush, first lieutenant of the _Hotspur_ , had been sceptical of the lad's wish to serve in the Royal Navy. A young gentleman used to a life of luxury would be ill prepared for life aboard one of His Majesty's ships. Still, the Royal Navy needed good officers, so he did not object when Commander Hornblower accepted the young man's request to serve under his command. It was better that he learn his duties from a captain in full possession of his mental faculties than from one who bred mutiny by suspecting it wherever he turned.

As time passed and Hammond failed each time he was presented with a new challenge, William began to wonder if the decision to take him on had been the wrong one. When he'd voiced such worries to Archie, the second lieutenant shook his head. "Mr Hammond will prove himself when the time is right, William. He may fail when first tested, but he learns from those mistakes. With some help from his friends."

"What if one of his failures results in his death?" William pressed the issue, leaning forward across the table. "How will he learn then?"

Archie met William's pale blue eyes with his own bright blue ones, shadowed as they were by sadness. "That is a risk we must take. Some can only learn by making mistakes."

Reluctantly, William nodded, ignoring a memory brought to mind by his questions. "I hope that the price of Mr Hammond's mistakes isn't too dear."

"That is what we all hope," Archie answered quietly, reaching across the table to pat the older man's hand. William turned his hand over under his friend's and squeezed it gently in silent thanks.

* * *

In time, both William's worries and Archie's faith were vindicated. The lad lived, but his uncle killed himself because he thought him dead. As the squadron limped homeward, William found time to visit the midshipman, who was recovering from the wound that had nearly taken his life. "I'm aware that you weren't completely truthful in your report to me that resulted in Commander Hornblower's capture." To his credit, Hammond didn't look away, though his cheeks reddened slightly. "However, since it led to the discovery of a French spy in our midst, the captain is willing to overlook your panic, this time." William met the lad's eyes steadily. "He might not be so forgiving next time, though."

"I understand, Sir." Hammond's voice was quiet, but steady and William could see already that the awkwardness that had been so evident before was already fading, a tribute to the lad having survived his first battle. "I have no intention of letting Captain Hornblower down again."

He allowed himself a paternal smile and patted the young man's shoulder, startling him a little. "Good man. I trust your duties will come to you more easily now."

"Aye-aye, Sir." Hammond nodded, tugging at his forelock, determination in his eyes.

Hiding a smile, William returned the salute and withdrew. He nodded to Wellard, who was just approaching the sickbay, clearly intending to visit his fellow midshipman.

* * *

When Hammond resumed his duties after recovering from his injury, William was pleased to note that his prediction had been correct. The lad didn't need hints from his fellow midshipmen or from Matthews any longer. He didn't hesitate when interpreting signals from the flagship, even correcting Orrock once, much to his consternation. The other midshipman didn't take offence, however, looking more pleased than anything else. His skill at navigation improved steadily as well. It was as if, having proven himself in battle, Hammond gained confidence and self-assurance.

William said as much to Archie when they were exchanging the watch, feeling rather proud of the midshipman. His fellow lieutenant answered with one of his cheeky smiles. "I told you he wouldn't let us down, Mr Bush. He just needed a little more time to find his sea legs."

**End**


	13. Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Midshipman John "Jack" Hammond had always liked cats._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a fic about cats aboard ships and this is what I came up with. Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Cats**

Midshipman John "Jack" Hammond had always liked cats. A good dozen or so had lived in the barn while he grew up, the number growing or shrinking as kittens were born and older cats died. His favourite had been a long, slender tom, dark grey with bright gold eyes and a pink tongue. He and his sisters had named that particular cat Smoke for the colour of his fur and the fact that he was as silent as smoke on the wind. When he'd learned that sailors considered cats lucky, he'd felt almost relieved because he could handle them.

Of course, cats had only been a small part of Naval life and it had taken him many months before he was fully confident of his abilities as a budding Naval officer. Still, it had stood him in good stead when Charles Orrock had found that one of the female cats had decided his hammock would make a fine birthplace for her litter of five kittens. The older midshipman, tired and cranky after his watch, had been ready to tilt the hammock and dump the entire family onto the deck just so he could sleep. John had stopped his friend, however. "You can't just dump those kittens like that, Charles. They're only a few hours old."

"What else should I do, Jack?" Charles demanded around a huge yawn. "I just want to sleep!"

"Take my hammock," John suggested, resting his hand on the older boy's sleeve, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of Charles in his hammock. "I've had my share of sleep for the day. Leave the cats to me."

With only a token protest about taking John's bed away from him, Charles had all but collapsed into the hammock, asleep within moments. As his friend slept, John prepared a nest for the mother cat and her newborn kittens in a corner of the midshipman's mess. With Henry Wellard's help, he carried the hammock over to the nest and coaxed the furry family into changing locations.

Once they were settled, John carefully stroked the mother's head and she tilted it into the caress. Smiling softly, he restored the hammock to its rightful place and took a moment to watch Charles sleep, quietly noticing how innocent he looked with his face relaxed in slumber. Smiling softly to himself, John left to report for his watch, wondering why his heart was pounding in his chest when all he'd done was transfer a cat family from one home to another.

* * *

When he returned to the mess after his watch, Charles was up and awake. As John passed him on his way to their berth, the other midshipman reached up and caught his coat sleeve. "Thank you for lettin' me use your hammock."

"You're welcome," John stifled a yawn. "If you'll excuse me, it's my turn to sleep."

Charles nodded, grinning, and waved his friend on. The younger of the two went into the berth and barely managed to remove his shoes, jacket, waistcoat, and stock before he collapsed into his hammock, which the other midshipman had left hanging. He frowned a little, wondering why his pillow smelt odd when he remembered that Charles had used it. _Of course, it smells like him. Rather nice smell, actually..._ With that thought, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Upon waking, he found himself buried under a litter of kittens with the mama cat curled up against his stomach, kneading the blanket with her paws and coming perilously close to unmanning him. Carefully, he shifted the cats around until he could get up without dumping them on the floor. As he moved away, he saw something move that wasn't one of the cats and picked it up. He smiled when he saw that it was a feline figure carved out of wood. "How beautiful."

"Thank you, Jack." Charles' voice startled him and he turned quickly to face him. As he did, he lost his balance and fell back against his hammock. Luckily, the kittens were able to dig their claws into the cloth and keep from falling as it swayed wildly. The mother cat yowled even as she dug her claws in.

John quickly steadied the hammock and stroked the cat family soothingly, apologizing for disturbing them. The mother cat calmed quickly and settled down to let the kittens nurse, gazing at John with placid eyes, though he could see the warning that he better not disturb them like that again. Stroking her one last time, he turned to face Charles, who looked repentant. Holding up the carving, he asked, "You made this?"

"Yes, though I didn't mean to startle you like that." Charles crossed to stand next John's hammock with him, offering his hand to the mother cat. She sniffed it a moment before rubbing her head against it, imperiously demanding attention.

John smiled as he watched Charles pet the cats. "I think they'll work out fine, don't you?"

"If you don't mind sharin' your hammock with them," Charles commented with a wry smile.

He shook his head, smiling fondly. "I don't mind. I used to share my bed with several cats during the winter at home. This will be fine."

"It's your hammock, not mine." The older midshipman retorted without malice.

He nodded, shrugging into both his waistcoat and jacket. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

"I'm sure you will." John sat down to put his stockings and shoes on and Charles left a moment later. He wondered if he imagined the hand ghosting over his curls before the other boy left. Shaking his head, he finished putting his shoes on and stood up to tie his stock before he left the berth, ready to face another day as a midshipman aboard the _Hotspur_.

**End**


	14. Jack and Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles considers his relationship with Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part takes place at the end of 'Revision'. The rest takes place after 'Talk', 'Commendations', and 'Sea Legs'. 'Cats' takes place at some point during this. Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Jack and Charles**

When John Hammond was injured during the attack on Brest, Charles Orrock knew without a doubt that he was attracted to the other middie. He'd been unsure of him in the beginning. It had soon become apparent that the younger middie knew very little of his duties or life aboard a ship. Still, it was clear he wanted to learn so Charles had taken John under his wing, helping him learn from his mistakes. The most senior midshipman, Henry Wellard, had helped, too.

The duties soon came more easily to John, much to his delight and relief. Charles and Henry were pleased, too, though part of Orrock had been disappointed that John wouldn't need his tutoring much anymore. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because they had so much work to do. He volunteered to be a part of the shore party that would destroy the semaphore tower and was pleased when John was included as well.

That hadn't worked out very well. Hammond had managed to escape back to the ship, but he'd come back ashore with Mr Bush to rescue them. In doing so, he saved Charles' life, almost at the expense of his. Matthews, who had also come ashore with Lieutenant Bush, had wasted no time trying to find a surgeon or physician. With some assistance from Orrock, he was able to remove the shot that had plowed into John's stomach.

The bos'un almost dropped the bullet when a shot rang out. While Matthews sewed up the wound, Charles tracked the sound to a crumpled body a dozen paces away. It was Captain Hammond. He had just killed himself, for a reason Orrock wouldn't find out for many years. Commander Hornblower lowered his gun and turned to look at John. "Well, Matthews?"

"Provided he's kept quiet and still, he should mend nicely, Sir," reported the old salt, never pausing in his work. "Though it might be good to 'ave a proper surgeon look 'im over."

"I'll see what I can arrange." The commander nodded to them both and turned away to speak with Mr Bush, who'd just finished rounding up the last of the prisoners.

"Thank ye for yer assistance, Sir." Matthews' voice drew Charles' attention from the two officers.

Glancing at the rating, Orrock nodded and reluctantly released his friend. He lightly stroked his fingers over the black curls and got to his feet. He had other work to do.

* * *

Admiral Pellew's surgeon, Dr Paul Stevens, examined John before he was transported back to the _Hotspur_. He approved of Matthews' work and asked only that someone sit near the midshipman until he woke. Captain Hornblower left it up to Lieutenant Bush to arrange. He asked for volunteers and Charles was one of the first.

They were well on their way to England when John woke with a groan, raising a hand to his head. Hiding his relief, Charles told him, "Easy, Jack. Ye're still recoverin'."

"Recovering from what?" John asked, cautiously opening his eyes to look at Charles, who'd taken a seat nearby.

Charles raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a friendly smile. "Ye don't remember anythin' of the battle? At all?"

"I remember the way my stomach felt like it was tied in knots while the boats seemed to take forever to get to the shore," John confessed sheepishly, trying to relax in the hammock. "Mr. Bush kept urging the men to row faster, but you know they can only go so fast."

The older middie nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. Do ye remember anythin' else?" _Do ye remember savin' me life?_

"It's all sort of a blur after that," the younger middie frowned slightly as he tried to remember. "I jumped out of the jolly boat as soon as I could and charged forward before I could stop to think about the danger I was facing." He glanced up at Charles with shy eyes. "I just knew my captain and shipmates were in danger because of me and that I needed to make up for it by helping in whatever way I could."

Charles covered John's hand where it rested on his stomach with one of his long, slender ones. He gazed steadily into his eyes, trying to convey the strength of what he said. "Ye did help, Jack. Trust me. If not for ye, I would not be here today."

"I remember now." He gazed at Charles' hand on his as he remembered. "I didn't really do much when you think about it."

The Irish middie shook his head emphatically in disagreement with the statement. "Ye did more than ye think, Jack, and stop tryin' to deny it."

"I couldn't do any less, Charles," John pointed out quietly, meeting his gaze steadily. "Especially for someone who's done everything he could to help me."

"An admirable quality, Mr Hammond." The quiet voice in the doorway startled Charles to his feet and into a position of attention. John started to sit up, but fell back with a groan, his hand moving to his stomach. Orrock wanted to turn to his friend, but he was restrained by the requirements of the service. Mr Kennedy moved to the other side of the hammock from the midshipman, a strong, square hand covering his shoulder. "Easy, Mr Hammond, just lie quietly. A gut wound like yours can be a nasty piece of work." The piercing blue eyes moved to where Charles remained at attention. "Mr Orrock, you're needed elsewhere. I'll stay with Mr Hammond."

Though he knew he still had time, Orrock knew a dismissal when he heard one. He knuckled his forehead, assuming the impassive mask all officers were trained to wear. "Aye-aye, Sir."

Turning, he left the room and made his way to the sail locker. He needed some time to himself now that John had woken up.

* * *

He was well aware that loving one's fellow man was limited to friendly love. What he felt for John Hammond was more than friendship, however. He realized that now. However, he could not act on his feelings for his friend. For all he knew, the younger middie could have a sweetheart waiting for him at home. He would have to content himself with friendship and find physical comfort elsewhere whenever he had shore leave.

He managed well enough, spending as much time with John as he could. At first, helping him learn his duties worked well enough. Once the dark-haired middie had grown confident enough in his abilities, however, he didn't need Charles or Henry's help. By then, though, they had become good enough friends that they didn't need an excuse to spend time together.

Now that they were at war with France again, they saw a great deal of action. One instance in particular will always stand out in Charles' memory. They'd taken a French ship by boarding, but Orrock had the misfortune of having his side sliced open from chest to hip. He fought on despite the injury and fainted once the battle was over.

He woke to find himself in the sickbay, with Henry Wellard sitting nearby. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Charles."

"Thank ye, Henry." He managed a wry smile, glancing down to see a bandage wound around his torso, almost as if he were one of those Egyptian mummies he'd heard about. "What have I missed?"

"Drink this first." Henry pressed a cup into Charles' hands, light blue eyes meeting grey. "Doctor's orders."

"Well, we mustn't disobey the doctor." He took the cup and drank the contents, grimacing at the taste. "Why must medicine always taste horrible?"

"I think if someone could come up with an answer to that question, they would be a very rich man." Henry grinned, taking the cup and setting it aside.

The taller middie made himself comfortable in his hammock. "Now, what's been goin' on?"

"The captain gave Lieutenant Bush command of the Frog ship," began Henry promptly, smiling a little. "He took Jack with him to give him more experience with command."

Charles frowned a little at that, part of him disappointed that he wouldn't get to see John for several weeks, perhaps a month. "Why not take ye? Ye're the most senior."

"I have had that experience," Henry assured his friend with a quiet smile. "I am not bitter." He frowned a little himself. "Though, Jack seemed a little reluctant to go."

The Irish middie frowned even more at that. "Why would he be? It's a good chance for him."

"We'll have to ask him, I guess." Henry shrugged, just as Charles yawned. "You should sleep. Dr Taylor doesn't want us to tire you out while you're recovering."

Orrock would have protested, but he yawned again. "I guess ye're right. Thank ye for sittin' with me, Henry."

"Not at all, Charles." The older middie patted Charles' shoulder. "I hope you recover quickly."

"I do, too." They laughed and Henry left the sickbay. Sighing, Orrock lay back and let sleep overtake him. He had a feeling he wouldn't be doing much while he recovered from his injury.

* * *

As he'd guessed, Dr Taylor refused to let him do very much. He was confined to his bed for a week and, once he was up and about, he was forbidden to do anything that might aggravate the stitches in his side. It was a relief when they finally reached England. At least he could look through the shops on his daily walk instead of watch the men do their work while he couldn't.

He'd also hoped that Mr Bush and John would have made it back before them, but that wasn't the case, probably because French ships weren't as fast as British ships. Henry kept him company for a while, but Captain Hornblower couldn't spare him for too long. After a week, Wellard returned to the ship and Charles was left largely to his own devices. The other midshipmen came to see him, but they weren't very close.

Just as he was beginning to grow bored and restless, Matthews came to see him and told him that Lieutenant Bush had finally arrived in England. This cheered him up immensely and he waited in a fever of impatience for John to come for a visit. The younger middie finally arrived that afternoon, timidly poking his head around the door. "Charles?"

"Hello, Jack," responded Orrock cheerfully, waving him into the room. "It's good to see ye. How was the voyage?"

"Endless," answered John, entering the room and sitting down in the chair by the bed. "There were days when it seemed like we'd never get to England."

"Yet here ye are." Charles grinned and patted his friend's knee. "It did end after all."

Black curls bobbled as Hammond nodded his head, blue-grey eyes focused on his lap. "Yes, it did."

"Are ye all right?" Charles tilted his head, concerned that John couldn't seem to look at him. "Ye don't seem very pleased that ye made it here safely."

John lifted his head to look at his friend and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, a sob emerged, startling both of them. Tears started trickling down the other middie's thin cheeks as another sob escaped him. Mortification swept over the middie's features and he bolted from the room without another word.

"Jack!" Charles tried to get up to go after his friend, but a wave of dizziness assailed him and he had to stop where he was for the moment.

By the time his head had cleared, Mr Bush was standing in the doorway, watching him with some concern. "Are you all right, Mr Orrock?"

"Aye, Sir. Just a little dizzy spell." He reluctantly sat back down, mentally vowing to ask John about his tears the next time he saw him. He then turned his attention to the lieutenant, answering his questions about his health and recovery, touched by his concern.

* * *

He tried to ask John about the tears when he came for a visit the following day, but the other middie ignored the questions, acting as if he hadn't heard them at all. Reluctantly, Charles dropped the subject and asked him more questions about his voyage instead. John answered those happily enough, explaining how it had taken them longer to arrive in England. As he'd suspected, the French ship just hadn't been as fast as the _Hotspur_. Successive visits on John's part followed the same pattern. He steadfastly refused to talk about his tears and Charles was obliged to follow his lead. He hoped things would be better once he returned to duty.

Once he'd been cleared, things were better in that he was no longer bored out of his mind. They were not in that John seemed rather tense around Charles now. Living and working in such close quarters, they were bound to brush against each other. Before, he'd always been very much aware of these contacts between them and sometimes managed to brush against Hammond intentionally. The other middie had never seemed to mind, but now he flinched at even the lightest contact between them, particularly when it was skin against skin.

Likewise, they had fallen into the habit of helping each other with their stocks and queues, but now John turned to Henry or one of the other middies for help. If Charles asked him, he stammered out a refusal and fled. At first, he refused to let this radical change in his friend's behaviour bother him, reasoning that it would soon pass. When it didn't, however, he began to brood, wondering if he had somehow managed to offend John. The idea upset him so much that it affected his ability to perform his duties properly.

As the senior midshipman, it was Wellard's job to keep an eye on his messmates and talk to them if he thought there was something wrong. As Charles' friend, Henry was concerned by the change in his performance. One evening, when the older middie found the taller one seated alone at the table after coming off watch, he sat down beside him. "Charles, can I have a word with you?"

"Ye can have several if ye like." Charles smiled, but there was no warmth behind it as there used to be.

"Thank you." Henry glanced around to ensure that no one was nearby. "I hate to say this, but you haven't been performing your duties as well as you should lately. I know that's not like you at all, so I've been wondering what the reason could be. All I could think of was your injury."

"It's not that, I assure ye." The Irish middie shook his head, idly carving away a bit of the wood in his hands. It was a talent he'd discovered as a young lad, searching for something to do with himself when his parents couldn't afford to send him to school.

"What is it, then?" asked the English middie, concern heavily evident in his voice.

"Nothin' ye can help me with," answered Charles shortly, refusing to look at his friend. He knew he would see hurt in the other middie's blue eyes and he wouldn't be able to keep his troubles to himself if he saw it. "It's somethin' I have to work on by meself."

"Are you certain?" Henry's voice was doubtful now, but wavering.

"Aye, quite certain." Charles nodded, intent on his carving though he was hardly seeing it in his hands now.

"Very well." The older middie patted his wrist and left him to his carving. Once he was gone, the younger middie set the knife and wood down, wishing his hands would stop shaking.

* * *

He'd thought that would be the last of the issue, but he'd forgotten about the chain of command. If the senior midshipman couldn't solve a problem, he went to his superior officer. In this case, Henry went to Lieutenant Kennedy. About a week after the older middie had tried to talk with Charles, he was being relieved by the second lieutenant from his watch on the quarterdeck, thinking mainly of his hammock. Just as he was about to leave, a strong, square hand caught his sleeve. "A moment, if you please, Mr Orrock."

"Sir?" Charles turned back reluctantly. It had been a long and tedious watch and all he wanted was to go and sleep.

"It has not escaped the notice of the captain, Mr Bush, or me that you have not been performing your duties properly for some time now," began Mr Kennedy, glancing at the midshipman, and then out over the ocean. Inwardly, Charles sighed, but outwardly he remained impassive. "We have been wondering if you returned to your duties too soon after such a serious injury. Mr Wellard has informed me, however, that you claim it is not your recent injury that is the cause of your trouble. Is this true?"

Charles nodded. "Aye, Sir. I've had no trouble with it at all."

"Why have you not been performing your duties as you should, then?" the second lieutenant turned to the midshipman, bright blue eyes gazing steadily at him.

He struggled with himself over the answer to give. He couldn't simply brush off Mr Kennedy. He was his superior officer. He'd only gotten away with it with Henry because the other middie was his friend as well as the senior middie. Finally, he decided and answered stiffly. "It's personal, Sir."

"Indeed?" A russet-gold eyebrow arched at that, bright blue eyes gazing out over the sea once more. Charles remained where he was. He had not been dismissed and he had not been given leave to speak. He could only wait to be dismissed or addressed. They had stood in silence for several minutes before Lieutenant Kennedy addressed him. "When we next make port, you and Mr Hammond will be given shore leave together."

There was no mistaking the emphasis on the last word, but he felt it necessary to ask for clarification anyway. "Sir?"

"I don't know what has happened between you two, but it is affecting the running of the ship," explained Mr Kennedy, meeting Charles' eyes again. "Perhaps spending shore leave together will help you work it out between yourselves. Is that clear?"

"Aye-aye, Sir." The midshipman saluted, his heart sinking even as it danced a jig. _He_ had no problems with spending shore leave with John Hammond. It was the _other_ middie who seemed to have some sort of problem with Charles.

The lieutenant returned the salute. "Dismissed, Mr Orrock."

"Aye, Sir." Dropping his hand, Charles left the quarterdeck. His next shore leave was going to be pleasurable agony, he just knew it.

* * *

After his talk with Lieutenant Kennedy, Charles made a conscious effort to perform his duties properly. He didn't expect that it would affect whether he would be required to go on shore leave with John, but he shouldn't have let his worries affect his ability to do his job in the first place. It wasn't as if he _didn't_ want to spend time with John. It's just that the younger middie didn't seem to want to spend time with _him_ anymore. Perhaps he would be able to find out the reason for that while they were on shore leave.

About two months after the second lieutenant had talked with him, they made port. Mr Kennedy came up beside Charles as he stood at the railing, watching as they made anchor. "The captain has approved you and Mr Hammond for the first shore leave. Report back to the ship by six bells of the forenoon watch."

"Aye-aye, Sir." Charles nodded, ignoring the way his heart began to thump against his ribs.

"We have ways of knowing if you two have spent the time together or not," the lieutenant warned him. "Dismissed."

Saluting, the midshipman left and headed belowdecks to the mess. John was already there, packing a bag. Moving to his sea chest, Charles began to do the same. When he was ready, they left the ship together without a word to each other.

* * *

Their first order of business was to find a room. To save money, they agreed to rent one room with one bed. Charles was secretly delighted with the idea, but it seemed to distress John. Still, he agreed, so the older middie could only hope that the younger one would be able to get past his distress after a day together. Once they'd found a room and settled terms with the landlord, they left to do some exploring.

They browsed through the shops, examining the wares for sale. John found a book he hadn't read yet that wasn't too expensive and Charles bought a new set of cards. His old ones had fallen overboard. He also found some odds and ends of wood that he could use for carving. He was quite surprised when Hammond found a bit of wood and shyly offered it to him. Orrock accepted it with a warm smile, squeezing his hand. For the first time since Charles had been injured, John didn't pull his hand away as if he'd been scalded.

Several times, Orrock tried to bring up the reason they'd been ordered to spend their shore leave together, but Hammond refused to discuss it. This frustrated the Irish middie, but he couldn't force the other middie into a discussion. He resigned himself to not discussing it and chose to enjoy the rest of their day together. This included watching the puppet show being performed in the town square.

They returned to their inn for supper. It was a very quiet, uncomfortable affair. Neither of them ate, drank, nor spoke much. Charles' thoughts were on the fact that he would soon be sharing a bed with John and wondering how he would be able to stand being so close to the object of his affections, and yet so far from him. He wasn't sure what the other middie was thinking of, but he seemed more agitated and distressed than he'd been that morning.

John went upstairs first. After allowing him a decent amount of time to change for bed and pretend to be asleep, Charles went upstairs as well. When he reached the room, the younger middie was in bed, hugging the far edge. Stifling a sigh of longing and resignation, the older middie changed and slipped under the covers, hugging the near edge of the bed. Though uncomfortable, he was soon asleep.

* * *

When he woke up several hours later, he was confused. He now lay on his back in the middle of the bed, instead of on his side at the edge of the bed. There was also a warm body cuddled against his, a slender arm draped across his waist. His heartbeat sped up as he realized that it was John. Somehow, they'd drifted together in their sleep and wrapped their arms around each other. He rather liked it.

He'd just dipped his head to bury his nose in the younger middie's curls, breathing in his scent, when he felt the other middie wake up. John remained still for several moments, as if he was trying to figure out where he was and what had happened. Charles knew the _exact_ moment that his friend fully woke up because he sat bolt upright and started backing away. "Oh, God. I _knew_ this would happen!"

"Watch out, ye're goin' to--" Charles' warning was too late. John fell off the bed with a yelp and a thump. Sitting up, he peered over the edge of the bed. "Are ye all right?"

"Yes, I think so." John carefully sat up, embarrassment more than evident in his voice.

"Good, now get up here. We need to talk." Charles made his voice steely, turning away to light the candle on the bedside table. He felt the straw mattress shift under him and turned back to see that John had perched hesitantly on the edge of the bed, tugging the hem of his nightshirt down over his legs, looking impossibly young in the flickering candlelight. He couldn't quite keep a plaintive note out of his voice as he asked, "Why don't ye like me anymore?"

The dark-haired middie looked up, startled, blue-grey eyes wide. "I _do_ like you, Charles."

"Really?" Charles raised an eyebrow and reached out to touch John's arm. The other middie flinched and almost fell off the bed again. "Why did ye flinch just then?"

Pink suffused the thin cheeks and he looked down at the bed, his voice low as he answered. "You'll hate me if I tell you the truth."

"No, I won't," insisted Charles, lightly resting a hand on John's shoulder. "Please tell me, Jack."

They sat in silence for several minutes. The younger middie was clearly struggling with himself over whether to tell the older middie the truth or not. Finally, he let out a long, shuddering breath. "The truth is, I like you _too_ much, Charles." Before the meaning of his words could sink in, he hurried on. "I can transfer to another ship if you'd be too uncomfortable working with me."

"Silly lad," murmured Charles, gently urging John's chin up so he could look into the miserable blue-grey eyes. "I don't want ye to transfer."

The shorter middie blinked in confusion, a hint of hope dawning. "You don't?"

"Nay," confirmed the taller middie, stroking his friend's chin lightly. "I like ye too much, too."

It took John a few moments to realize what Charles meant. When he did, his eyes widened. "You _really_ do? You're not just saying it to make me feel better?"

"Silly lad," repeated the older middie, leaning forward to kiss the younger middie. John didn't respond at first, too surprised by how quickly it had come. Then he made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and wrapped his arms around Charles and responded eagerly to the kiss.

Orrock could not have been more delighted. He'd often fantasized about kissing Hammond, but had never thought that he might get a chance to actually _kiss_ him. It was better than any he could have imagined and he didn't want it to end. Unfortunately, the need to breathe forced him to end the kiss long before he would have liked to. He sat back and gazed at John, waiting for his reaction.

John made a sound of protest when Charles ended the kiss, but didn't move or react otherwise. Finally, he slowly opened his eyes and smiled shyly at his friend. "That was very nice."

"I quite agree." Charles lay back on the bed and opened his arms. "We still need sleep."

"Sleeping sounds good." John lay down next to his friend and cuddled close to him once again. With some shifting, they were entwined once again and settled down to sleep.

**End**


	15. Promotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie understands now why promotion was as important to Pellew as it was to the officers being promoted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Promotion**

Captain Archibald Kennedy watched from the quarterdeck of his ship, the _Courser_ , as acting lieutenant John 'Jack' Hammond set out in the jollyboat to take his exam. Now twenty, the curly-haired lad who'd panicked at the sight of French troops was a seasoned officer who'd been tried and tested in many battles since then and proved his worth over and over again. Archie couldn't be prouder of the young man if he were his own son.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his second lieutenant, Charles Orrock, standing at the railing, watching the jollyboat pull for shore. Kennedy knew without being told that the two young men had come to an understanding and would stand by each other as much as they could in the service. It was the sort of bond condemned by the Articles of War as well as the church, but one Archie couldn't condemn because he shared a similar relationship with Captain Horatio Hornblower of the _Redoubtable_.

Besides, in four years, he had caught the two young men violating Article XXIX only once. Even then, it had not been a compromising position: simply two boys kissing in the orlop. First lieutenant Kennedy--William Bush had been given his own command after the Battle of Trafalgar--had chosen to interpret the scene as he wished, "While I'm pleased that Mr Orrock is such a dedicated teacher, Mr Hammond, I suggest further lessons of this nature be confined to shore leaves and conducted with discretion. You wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea, would you?"

Faces scarlet with embarrassment, the acting lieutenant and midshipman had shaken their heads and slunk away, though Archie had seen the curiosity in their eyes. He was glad they hadn't questioned their good fortune and had remained discreet afterwards. Junior officers did not question their superiors, after all. Unless, of course, the junior officer had an understanding with said superior officer. Then it was all right to question the aforementioned officer, but only behind closed doors.

At any rate, Archie was confident that John Hammond would pass his exam. He'd faced harsher tests in his years of service and passed those. Plus, he knew for a fact that Orrock had been helping his friend study for the exam, as he had helped him learn his duties when the younger man had first entered the service. It had worked in the past and was bound to work now.

* * *

When Hammond returned early in the evening, he was smiling despite his effort to hide it. Orrock met him as he climbed aboard, clearly asking how it had gone. A nod of the curly head was answered with a clap on the shoulder that would have sent Hammond sprawling four years earlier. Now, however, the shorter man kept his feet and simply smiled in reply. Gleaning his answer from Orrock's actions, Archie waited on the quarterdeck for Hammond to report to him, which he did with all due speed, managing a serious expression as he saluted. "Come aboard, Sir."

"Thank you, Mr Hammond," Archie accepted the papers the young man offered him, seeing for himself that he had passed his exam handily. "According to these papers, however, you are out of uniform."

"I am, Sir?" Hammond gazed at his captain in puzzlement. Over his shoulder, Orrock was grinning broadly, understanding in his grey eyes.

"Mmm-hmm." Archie nodded, producing the scissors from the sewing kit his steward kept. "Mr Orrock, would you care to do the honours?"

"Aye-aye, Sir!" Still grinning like a loon, the second lieutenant took the scissors and removed the midshipman flashes from Hammond's collar. Once he finished, he placed them in his fellow lieutenant's hand, murmuring something that was apparently meant for only Hammond's ears, which turned pink.

Once Orrock had returned the scissors and stepped back, Archie addressed his third lieutenant for the first time. "You may have shore leave to celebrate your good fortune and buy a new uniform. I'm sure Mr Orrock can recommend a good tailor who won't cheat you of all your money and a good inn to cheat you of what the tailor leaves behind."

"Aye-aye, Sir." Hammond couldn't quite hide a grin as he saluted, thought he made a valiant effort to do so. "Thank you, Sir."

"Just be back in time for tomorrow evening's watch," Archie ordered, hiding a paternal smile.

Nodding, the two lieutenants disappeared below to get their things for shore leave. As he watched them leave in the jollyboat, Archie understood why Admiral Pellew had taken such an interest in the careers of the men who'd served under him. They became just as dear as family, perhaps more so because they _knew_ what the Naval life was like. He rather liked the feeling and planned to nourish it as long as he could.

**End**


	16. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has orders for Jack from the Admiralty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Mylodon on LJ.

**Orders**

John Hammond smiled when he saw his friend and captain enter the inn. Raising a hand, he waved to draw the other man's attention. "Over here, Charles!"

Charles Orrock, captain of the _Calypso_ , smiled when he saw the other man and wound his way among the tables to the one by the fire that the lieutenant had commandeered for them. "Hello, Jack. I take it you had a good day?"

"Better than a good day aboard the _Calypso_ ," John retorted with a smile, lifting his beer and taking a deep draught as the innkeeper brought one over for Charles.

"Can I get you gentlemen anything to eat?" the balding man asked, using a square of cheesecloth to wipe away a few drops of beer that had fallen on the table.

The two men exchanged a glance. After serving more than ten years together at sea, they could read every glance. At a nod from Charles, John answered, "A bit of whatever you're cooking right now. It's been torturing me for the last half-hour."

"The same for you, Captain?" The swabs were easily recognizable on Charles' best coat, so neither man was surprised that Charles was addressed by his rank.

Instead, the young man simply nodded. "I'll trust my lieutenant's word on the subject."

"Thank you, Sirs." The innkeeper bowed slightly before bustling back into the kitchen, looking very pleased.

Once he was gone, John addressed Charles in a low voice. "What did the Admiralty want with you, Charles? They can't be dissatisfied with your service after all this time."

"We'll talk about it later, Jack." The other man kept his voice as low as his lieutenant's. "There're too many people here."

Frustrated at having to wait, John knew better than to press the matter. Charles would tell him when he was good and ready and not before. It was a habit that made him a good captain, but drove John positively mad at times. Still, he refused to let his frustration keep him from enjoying two shepherd's pies and a generous helping of steak and kidney pudding. By the time both men had finished their food and the bottle of wine Charles had ordered to go with the meal, they were feeling quite replete and sleepy.

Thanking their host, they climbed upstairs to the suite of rooms they'd taken. Between rich prizes and John's inheritance from both his father and uncle, neither man wanted for money, so they could afford nice rooms in better inns than those they'd visited when both were midshipmen saving money by sharing a bed in a drafty dockside tavern. Of course, that very situation had led to an understanding between them that time had yet to test.

Once the door had been closed and locked behind them, Charles swept John into an ardent kiss. This was no surprise, really. When they'd been younger, both had been eager to gain the privacy of their room and now, even as they grew older, there were times when they were hard-pressed not to simply bolt upstairs. Still, even as he returned the kiss, John could sense something different about this one, a desperation that usually only appeared when one or the other had been wounded in action. That wasn't the case this time, so John reluctantly ended the kiss, holding firmly to Charles' shoulders to hold him off. "Charles, what's wrong? What did the Admiralty tell you today?"

Though the taller of the two strained against John's hold, they were evenly matched and there was no way Charles could overpower his lover without resorting to dirty tricks, for which he was too honourable. Sighing, he reached up to cup the shorter man's cheek as he explained. "You're not goin' to be my lieutenant anymore, Jack."

"What?" John blinked and stared at Charles, his heart plummeting into his stomach. "Why? Did they find out about us?"

"No, nothin' like that," Charles was quick to reassure his lover, kissing him softly. "As you know, Admiral Stoltz passed away, which led to Commodore Bush's promotion..." John nodded impatiently. He knew all of that already. They'd attended the promotion ceremony yesterday. The man being honoured had specifically requested their presence after all. Charles continued, studiously ignoring John's obvious impatience, "...which left a ship without a captain..." his voice trailed off as he pulled a dispatch out of his pocket and offered it to John. "Admiral Hornblower thought of you, though I wouldn't be surprised if Admiral Bush or Captain Kennedy had somethin' to say about it."

As Charles had been speaking, John opened the dispatch and read the contents with wide eyes. "I'm being promoted? I'm a commander now?"

"Yes, you'll have your own ship," Charles confirmed with a quiet sigh, slumping into one of the chairs before the fire.

"I won't have you, though," John added after gazing thoughtfully at his lover. "I'll be alone."

"Except for your crew, you know," the taller man reminded him with a wry smile. "You'll hardly be alone."

John crossed to Charles' chair and sat down on the floor so he could rest his head in his lover's lap, closing his eyes as long, slender fingers began combing through his curls. "That's not what I mean and you know it." He sighed, glancing at the dispatch again. He didn't have a choice. He couldn't refuse the commission. He'd joined the Navy for this, but he hadn't expected to fall in love with a fellow officer. Still, he wouldn't change any of it for the world. "I'll miss you."

"We'll still be in the same fleet, under Admiral Hornblower's command, you know." John could hear both the smile and the sadness in Charles' voice. "We'll still see each other."

The new commander nodded, sitting up so he could meet Charles' eyes, a wicked smile growing and chasing away the temporary gloom that had fallen. "You know, this will be the first time we'll be of equal rank since you were promoted two years ago."

"Are you suggestin' that I take advantage of a fellow captain?" Charles assumed an affronted look, but the gleam in his grey eyes told John that his lover had guessed what he really intended to suggest.

John gave him an innocent look. "Not a fellow captain yet, Sir. Not until I have the swab to show for it."

"That's an excellent point." Charles gazed thoughtfully at John before standing and offering his hand to his lover. "Come, Jack. It's time to give Lieutenant Hammond a proper send-off before Captain Hammond take his place."

Smiling, John placed his hand in his lover's and allowed himself to be led to the bedroom. He knew their times together would become fewer and farther between now that they were both captains, but their love was strong. It would last through all the separations. He was sure of it.

**End**


	17. A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man receives a letter from his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character death is in this chapter, though it takes place 'off screen'.

**A Letter**

There was sympathy in the captain's eyes as he offered a letter to the taller man. "He wrote this in his last days. He knew he wouldn't last long enough."

Managing a faint smile of his own and a nod of his silver curls, the recipient opened the letter and began to read with difficulty. The writing was shaky and disjointed in some places, as if the writer had found it difficult to hold his pen at times.

_I've not got much time left. I can feel it. That's why I'm writing this. I know we didn't say it very often, but I wanted to tell you one last time that I love you. Nothing changed that. I also wanted to thank you. If we hadn't met, I wouldn't have lived as long as I did. I'd have simply existed until I was killed in battle. You gave me a reason to keep on. It's not enough now, but no one lives forever. I'd have died long ago without you to give me a reason to keep on. So thank you. Don't forget our love, but don't forget to live, either. Take care of yourself, Matty._

_Love,  
Ben_

"Did he suffer much?" Matthew Styles asked gruffly once he'd finished reading through the missive. Thanks to his lover's efforts, he could read well enough. "At the end?"

Captain Archie Kennedy reached up and patted one broad shoulder, understanding in his bright blue eyes. "No, he went peacefully."

"Thank you, sir." Styles cleared his throat, carefully folding the letter and putting it in his pocket. "Wish I could have been there."

"You can still say good-bye." Archie reminded the bo'sun gently. Matthews had been serving with Archie while Styles had remained with Bush. When a sudden storm had scattered the fleet, they had made best speed to the rendezvous. Archie's ship had arrived first with Bush's turning up last. "He asked us to wait as long as possible."

Styles gave his former commanding officer a relieved smile. "Thank you, Sir."

"This way." Archie led him to where Ben Matthews lay, looking as if he was simply asleep, were it not for the unnatural pallor beneath his tan.

Making a soft sound of grief in his throat at the sight, Styles knelt beside his lover, stroking the steel grey curls. Wisely, Archie moved away to give him privacy. The big man hardly noticed. "I love you, too, Ben. Wish I could've been here for you. Bloody storm ruined everythin'. You saved me as much as I saved you. Guess we saved each other." He gave a watery chuckle, rubbing at his eyes. "Can't imagine goin' on without you, but I'll manage. You taught me a lot." He sighed, resting a big hand on Matthews' chest, right over his heart. Not feeling a beat against his palm brought more tears to his eyes and he remained there for a long time.

**End**


End file.
